No Man Can Regret Loving
by Eady of Old
Summary: "No man can regret loving... as I have loved you." He'd spoken the words before he knew the true meaning of regret.
1. Chapter 1

**No Man Can Regret Loving**

**Summary**: _"No man can regret loving... as I have loved you." _He'd spoken the words before he knew the true meaning of regret.

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Downton Abbey or these characters.

**A/N: I've been working on this story for a while. I'm taking a bit of a chance on the first chapter, but after long consideration, I think it is necessary to frame the story and put everything into perspective. To that end, this story begins with the utmost angst. I feel obligated to tell you that there will be character death, if that bothers you, but try it through the first two chapters before giving on up on that score. I anticipate updating every week or so.**

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><p>Everything was silent and still, like a void in time or a chasm in existence. Grief destroyed him, hollowing him out and leaving only emptiness inside. He could not feel, could not think or breath or move or speak. There was simply... nothing.<p>

_"No man can regret loving... as I have loved you."_

He'd spoken the words before he knew the true meaning of regret.

Anna was gone. And he was lost without her.

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><p>It rained at the funeral, as though the heavens themselves opened up and wept at the loss of such a precious life. Bates did not cry as they lowered his wife's casket into the ground. But tears began to roll down his cheeks as the smaller one was gently placed in the grave beside his wife's. The vicar had been asked to speak. While Bates was not a believer, Anna would have wanted a proper service.<p>

His whole life was now in the ground at the cemetery, not yet marked with tombstones. Two graves and what was left of his blasted heart.

He nodded absently at those who offered him condolences after the funeral. A line of friends from the house and the village passed him, their dark clothing matched with somber expressions. He looked at people's faces without seeing their eyes, his own full of renewed tears.

Mrs. Patmore touched his arm as she told him, "We all loved Anna, you know."

Beside her, Daisy nodded in sympathy even as she wiped at her own eyes. Beyond them, Thomas kept his eyes focused on the ground, unwilling to acknowledge the tears which he shed openly. Even Jimmy showed sadness, his usually jovial manner buried behind reserve that any other day could have matched Carson's. But the old butler simply looked lost, as though he'd seen buried yet another child that was not of his body. As they each passed Bates, they took slow, shuffling steps, as though in no hurry to be on their way.

"I'm so sorry," Lord Grantham said weakly, "If there is anything we can do..."

Bates nodded to him in turn, mustering only a weak, "Thank you, milord."

Lady Mary echoed the sentiments, obviously also overcome by her former lady's maid's death. Bates knew the woman felt Anna's death nearly as keenly as he, but he had no capacity for her grief, his own taking up the entirety of his being.

"Milady," he responded perfunctorily.

Despite their words and offers of assistance, there was nothing anyone could do. Death was a finality that had to be dealt with, that could not be bargained with or reasoned away. It brought with it excruciating pain and an agony of existence he'd never known before.

And Bates had only himself to blame. Anna died because of him.

He should have known from the beginning that he would bring her nothing but pain and ruin. Had he not been so selfish, she could have been spared. Had he but realized then what he knew now, he would have left her life unblemished by his presence. It would have been a kindness.

After the last mourners had said their parting words to him and left the cemetery, Bates stood and watched as the grave digger finished. He refused to budge until the last shovel full of dirt was put into place. While he ignored the rain, he let Mrs. Hughes stand close and hold an umbrella over his head to keep off the wet. He paid her little mind, even as she insisted on walking back with him to the cottage afterwards.

"Is there anything you need?" she asked as she followed him inside. He walked through to the dark and dreary sitting room. Everything was cast in shadows, the light from outside muted and gray. It was as though he now lived in a photograph; all the color had been drained from the world.

"Nothing you can give," Bates answered her truthfully. He needed Anna.

He could sense the housekeeper's unease, but nothing stirred in himself to try and reassure her. Nothing remained within him to bother caring.

"You know what happened was no one's fault," Mrs. Hughes ventured softly, her Scottish accent suddenly sounding thicker as her voice filled with emotion. "It was but a terrible, terrible circumstance."

Bates shook his head as he answered, "It was my fault. The child was mine."

"You can't believe that," Mrs. Hughes said. He looked at her, hearing the anguish in her voice, and in her eyes he saw a fellow grieving parent. Anna had been like a daughter to her, and perhaps for the first time, Bates realized that his wife's death was taking a toll on someone other than himself.

"Where would she be today if I had never come to Downton?" he asked.

The housekeeper frowned at him as she understood where his mind had gone.

"If she were alive, she would be miserable. Alone and absolutely miserable."

He could not fathom such an outcome. Instead, he pictured his wife as she ought to have been - happy and smiling with joy. She might be tired from hard work, but her face would be unblemished by the ravages of heartache he'd caused her.

"I feel as though in coming here... in marrying Anna... I took happiness that was rightfully hers," Bates confessed. "I stole it like a thief, even though she never once begrudged it to me."

The older woman looked at him sympathetically. "You did not steal anything, Mister Bates. Whatever Anna had to give, she gave you freely. And your happiness did not take away from hers; it only multiplied her own joy."

But he could not believe that, not when she was dead in the cold ground and he was dead without her.

"I could have spared her so much suffering."

"By denying her all of the love she found with you?" Mrs. Hughes challenged. "She would not have wanted that. Nor would she want you to blame yourself for her death."

"But I am to blame." He focused his eyes in the darkened room, looking at all the touches Anna had made to their home. In the months since she'd been at the cottage and no longer working at Downton, she kept everything neat and tidy. "If not for me, she would be alive today."

The housekeeper sighed at his morose thought. "What a terrible thing to say. Mister Bates, I know you aren't a religious man, but I have to believe that Anna's death was to some divine purpose. She was called away from us too soon, but you are certainly not responsible for her death."

"If God exists, he never would have allowed someone like her to die in so much pain."

Mrs. Hughes went silent and did not contradict him. Perhaps she felt the same in her own heart. He went on, "It should have been me, who went first. Not her. She should have lived a long life with-" Tears threatened to choke off his words, "-with children, and..."

A sob cut him off as the weight and magnitude of Anna's death finally came crashing down on top of him. She was gone. She was truly gone, never to return. And he was alone in the world once again.

Except now, there was no hope and no future. Every day would be a torture to endure. No light penetrated the fog of Bates' mind as he contemplated such an existence. He had his memories of Anna, certainly, but even they were a sharp blade digging into his ribs. How could he remember her happy when far too often he could recall her sad or frightened? She had just barely gotten over the trauma from her attack when she discovered that she was pregnant and they would be expecting a child. Her excitement at the news was now made but a mockery.

Unable to stand by and watch him suffer alone, Mrs. Hughes put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her own eyes were far from dry, and for a time, they cried together in that dark room.

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><p>That evening, after Mrs. Hughes had returned to the house, Bates ascended the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to the bedroom he'd shared with his wife. His eyes fell upon the tiny cradle in the corner of the room, the one they'd bought in Ripon a month earlier. It did not bother him nearly as much as the freshly made bed. Someone had changed out the sheets and blanket from the night Anna had died, but he could not look at it without remembering the sight of her there.<p>

There had been so much blood.

Bates had hoped to find some trace of her spirit in the room, some spark of memory or feeling. But it was as empty as his blasted heart. His recollection of their best moments in that room was stained by thoughts of her pain and anguish.

He sighed with aching finality. Without Anna, there was nothing left for him here.

He arranged things easily, this not having been his first thought on the subject. Granted, he had not considered such an option since prison, and even then he's held himself back for her... for Anna. Everything was for Anna. The rope was not difficult to locate, nor was it hard to find a spot to suit his needs. The rafters in the bedroom closet were tall enough, and he relished being in the same place where she had last been.

But now Anna was gone, and there was no reason to stay.

He left a note for Lord Grantham, thanking him and apologizing. But he did not need to explain. No one would question why he did it, not after seeing him at the funeral.

The stool beneath his feet was sturdy until he unbalanced it, letting it fall away beneath him. His neck did not snap, but the rope tightened suddenly, painfully. And as air seized suddenly in his lungs and the world began to go black, he thought he saw her across the room, in the darkness. She glowed like an angel, as beautiful as he remembered. Anna held out a hand to him, as though inviting him home.

His last moment stretched into an endless, open infinity of possibilities.

If only he could go back, and do it again, perhaps he could keep her safe...

A moment later, Bates took a gasping breath of air.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: If you've come this far, I didn't completely scare you off with the first chapter. I appreciate everyone's faith in my writing. Reviews are appreciated as I'd love to know what you think.**

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><p>A moment later, Bates took a gasping breath of air. He sat up on his bunk, clutching at his chest as he struggled for oxygen. His heart beat wildly out of control as he continued to breathe in, as though he could not get enough into his lungs. His head swam, making the room spin in impossible directions, so he clutched at the edge of the bed for support.<p>

It took some time for him to gain his bearings, and for several minutes, he could not recognize his surroundings. The room was dark and dank, with murky shadows and a foreign coldness. Each sound echoed eerily, his breaths mixing with a peculiar din of human voices in the background. But it was familiar. After a moment, Bates realized that he was in a cell.

A prison cell.

Had they found him in time, he wondered? Had they found him in time and revived him and imprisoned him for attempting suicide? It was against the law, but surely he'd be in the hospital before they transported him to gaol...

But no, he had been in this place before. He knew it far too well. He'd spent quite a bit of time in this cell, behind these same walls. While he'd be the first to admit that most prison cells were difficult to distinguish from one another, he specifically recognized the loose stone near the corner where he sometimes hid items he did not want the wardens to find. The morning light filtering in through the sole window cast shadows on the floor that were like old friends. But what on earth was he doing back in prison when what felt like moments earlier he was at the cottage?

Was he dead? Was this hell? Were all the religions correct and he had truly been sent to hell for killing himself? If so, hell was the prison where he'd served two years of his life, which he decided was not necessarily the worst afterlife he could have imagined, but close enough.

"Bates?" a man demanded harshly, only his eyes and the brim of his hat appearing at the barred window to the cell.

"Yes," he stated, standing up. His knee hitched painfully, the sudden agony nearly causing him to stumble. He reached out to lean against the wall for stability.

"You're being released in half an hour. Make sure you have all your things together."

Things?

"I don't understand..."

But the guard was already gone.

He explored the cell reluctantly, finding a small stash of items he remembered from his past. A few books. An old comb, several tines broken off. A picture of his mother, creased and faded, along with a letter promising to meet him outside the prison on the day he was to be released. Looking at the upper corner, he noticed that it was dated November of 1911.

Surely, this was all some sort of trick?

Bates stared at the letter in his hand in confusion before turning to look at the meager items in his cell. A comb and some other toiletries. He recognized some of the books, volumes he had not touched in years. One of them was a bible, given to him by the prison chaplain. In times of desperation, he'd sometimes looked through it for the solace and answers that he knew others found. But to him the words were hollow and empty. He'd left the bible with his mother, Bates recalled, after his release from prison. He had no idea why it would be here.

His mother. His breath hitched as he looked again at her letter. The words were not faded as he remembered, but as bold and stark as if they were newly written. What could that mean? What did any of it mean?

They processed him out of the facility with brisk efficiency, allowing him to change into a fresh set of clothes which had been provided for him. The entire procedure was so familiar, not from his discharge for the murder charge, but earlier in his life, when he'd served his term for theft of the regimental silver. The guards, the uniforms - everything was the same. He could not discount the faces he recognized from so many years earlier, forgotten in the many years since but suddenly fresh in his memory as they stood before him.

What was going on?

The truth of what he'd begun to suspect finally hit him full force when he took his first limping steps outside the prison gates. There she was, waiting for him.

"Johnny."

The older woman grinned openly as she slowly approached him, her familiar voice awakening parts of his mind he'd closed up tightly against the brutishness of life behind bars.

But it simply was not possible. His mother was dead. Bates had been there when she closed her eyes for the last time and her limbs went slack. He'd watched her coffin go into the ground himself. She was the last of his family besides a few distant cousins. Besides Anna. And losing her had finally allowed him to close that chapter of his past, to imagine himself more than the sum of his father's abuse.

Despite the truth of what he knew, there she was, standing in front of him as alive and happy to see him as she'd ever been.

"Mother," he said, embracing her without another thought. In that time, all that mattered was that she was there and he had one more moment with her. It was a dream come true, a miracle, truly. Even if he had gone mad, at least his madness gave him this experience, to see his mother again.

She hugged him back just as fiercely before pulling away to look him up and down. The new brown suit she'd purchased for him and dropped off at he prison fit well enough, although he had already absently identified a few areas that could be better tailored to fit his frame. She smiled again before glancing down apprehensively at his leg.

"I saw you limping," she mentioned with concern. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," he lied automatically, hating for her to worry. "I'm perfectly well."

A fellow inmate had caught him off guard in the laundry room months earlier, tripping him up and then kicking him repeatedly. Bates could not even recall what the altercation had been about except that he'd been ashamed of having been bested. The trauma exacerbated his old war injury and left him unable to walk normally for the last period of his prison term. Bates already knew what his former self had been so unwilling to accept: that he would never walk normally again. The injury had caused some bit of shrapnel left in his leg to shift, and he would need to rely on a cane for stability the rest of his life.

His former self... it occurred to Bates suddenly that he was reliving these events for the second time. It came back to him in a rush - working at Downton, the attempt to divorce Vera, the war, his mother's death, the murder trial...

Anna.

He pictured her as he'd last seen her - exhausted and sweating from the pain of labor, her belly swollen with a child ready to be born. He closed his eyes as the sound of her screams invaded his mind.

When he opened them again, he saw his mother looking at him with growing concern.

"Johnny?" she asked.

In that moment, he knew the woman before him was not a dream. He was not dead, despite his attempt to end his own life. He remembered the feel of the rope around his neck, tightening with unexpected agony as his flow of oxygen was cut off. He remembered struggling for air, his body unconsciously fighting the choice made by his conscious mind. The pain was more than he had anticipated with his only comfort the knowledge that it would soon all be over. And he remembered thinking of Anna, his last thought.

And now he was here.

Somehow, in some strange form or fashion, he'd been transported back in time to the months before the sinking of the Titanic and his first days at Downton. It was beyond reason, really. Such a thing was impossible. But it was not a dream. Bates pinched himself to make sure, but the discomfort did not draw him out of sleep as it would in a simple state of sleeping. No, this place was real. His life was real, the appearance of his mother in flesh and blood the only assurance he needed to believe.

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><p>He walked in a daze, saying little as his eyes swept over the landscape of the city.<p>

Mrs. Bates seemed to accept her son's strange behavior as a reaction to the nearly two years he'd spent in prison. He remained silent as he accompanied her back to her house in London, walking slowly to accommodate his limp. Her home was just as he'd remembered it - quaint and furnished with a lifetime's worth of possessions. He looked around at the picture-covered walls before following her through the rooms to the kitchen. While he'd never been a particularly talkative man, she frowned at him apprehensively.

"She hasn't come around, you know," she said quietly as he sat at the table, waiting for a response as she prepared them a cup of tea.

"Who?" he asked in confusion.

Snorting at his expression, she said, "Who else? Vera. Your wife."

"Oh."

He'd forgotten about Vera, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the concept of having traveled back in time. He'd read a bit of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells over the years, but in that moment, he could not quite remember enough of the fantastical stories to help him appreciate what had happened. There was no time machine. Such a thing was the creation of fantasy and fiction. But he had somehow gone back into his past. Having caught his reflection in a mirror on his mother's wall, he'd noticed that he even looked younger. The wrinkles around his eyes were not as pronounced, nor had his hair line receded as far as he remembered.

And his mother was alive. He still could not get over that fact. She hummed to herself as she puttered around her kitchen making them tea, pulling homemade biscuits from a jar and placing them on one of the plates he remembered from his youth.

Her words finally penetrated his brain, bringing him back to their conversation. His mother was still alive, and Vera was still his wife. Considering how much he'd gone through to separate himself from her, it hurt to think about, but-

Anna.

His lungs froze in mid-breath as her image appeared in his mind.

Anna was alive.

Bates felt as though a bomb had just exploded in his consciousness. Everything was both in chaos and focus at the same time as he struggled to understand how such a thing could be possible. He had seen her dead, had just attended her funeral. He'd hung himself in a futile attempt to join her wherever her spirit had gone, but he found himself here instead.

But Bates knew as surely as his mother stood before him hale and hearty, Anna was alive out there. And in that instant, nothing else mattered.

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><p><em>TBC<em>

**A/N: Hopefully things now make sense for those who wondered where on earth I could be taking this fic after chapter one. I've lovingly nicknamed this story Time Traveling Bates. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's left a review for this story. I've been bad about keeping up with responding to everyone, but I very much appreciate the feedback. **

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><p>"I expect she's gone off somewhere," Mrs. Bates said thoughtfully. "She always was trouble, that one. I still cannot understand why you thought to marry her."<p>

At first, Bates was unable to focus on what his mother was saying. He felt light headed and a bit dizzy. But her voice flowed over him like cold water, numbing him to the emotions raging through his mind and body. But as he looked up and noticed her watching him expectantly, he suspended the thoughts which so enthralled him. What had she been saying?

Oh yes, Vera.

He signed, his own sentiments echoing his mother's. "I was a fool," he remarked truthfully.

"She tricked you into believing she was with child," she stated knowingly.

"How do you know she wasn't?" he asked. He recalled Vera's miscarriage, or what she'd told him of it, several months after their hasty wedding. At the time, he'd been too grief stricken to doubt her, but he'd grown to wonder if she had made up the entire thing. Looking back now, it seemed like another person's life.

"A woman knows these things," she responded, setting out a cup of tea for both of them before sitting down across the table. "And I'm sure she was familiar with the ways to keep that from happening."

The thought of Vera actively avoiding pregnancy had never really occurred to him before. After he and Anna had so much trouble conceiving, he assumed that his first wife's childless state was to do with him. Pushing the thought away lest he awaken memories of Anna's final hours once again, he mused aloud, "I should just find her now and see about ending our farce of a marriage."

Mrs. Bates raised an eyebrow at him. "Divorce?" she asked, dropping her voice low, as though she were repeating a dirty word.

He looked at her, remembering her religious background. She'd done her best to bring him up in her faith, but a hard childhood and years in the army had eroded his ability to pretend, even with her. Besides, she did not have the benefit he did of knowing the future, when divorce would grow increasingly more common. It would never be truly sanctioned by those in good society, but people would look down on him less when those of greater distinction began ending their unhappy marriages.

"Yes. I know it is frowned upon, and I'd have to save up a lot of money just to pay for it, but-"

"But why, Johnny?" she appealed. "She's gone now. You haven't seen her since you went away. What does it matter if you remain married in name only, unless..."

Understanding seemed to click into her mind suddenly.

"Are you hoping to remarry?" his mother asked, clearly confused.

He thought of Anna again, the only woman he could ever again associate with the word 'wife.' Vera was but a forgotten memory, a ghost of a bad dream that no longer haunted him. The impetuousness of youth had trapped him with her and made extricating himself almost impossible. He'd paid years of his life and Anna's both for that freedom. And now that he found himself back in those same shackles, he felt the overwhelming need to be rid of her again, preferably without the heartache he'd suffered the first time around.

But marry again? The notion had not yet occurred to him, but suddenly it hit him with such force that he felt light headed once more.

He could be with Anna again. If events played out the same way they had before, he would secure the position of Robert Crawley's valet and travel to Downton in April. He would meet the lovely head housemaid and begin the process of falling in love with her all over again. Eventually they would marry and build a life together. Their misfortunes were now known to him, and he could perhaps steer them clear of the worst of the pain he'd caused, if he was careful. And eventually-

Eventually Anna would die.

She would become pregnant with his child, a child she could not bear despite hours of agonizing labor and the doctor's best efforts to assist her, and she would die all over again. He shuddered involuntarily as the knowledge passed into him and settled like a mourning shroud on his shoulders. This was not an opportunity to be with her again. Such an action would be all selfishness and greed, just as it had been when he'd chosen to accept her precious love and kindness from the beginning.

No, Bates had not done the impossible and traveled back in time just to repeat the same errors of his God-forsaken life. He would not cause Anna's death again. He could not love her. He could not marry her. Such would only be an eventual death sentence.

Glancing up at his mother, he realized that he had not yet answered her question. He merely inclined his head slightly. "No, I would not seek another wife. But I do wish to be free of Vera."

She regarded him with a questioning look, as though she could almost read his tumultuous thoughts. "If you can find her."

The benefit of having lived a lifetime already was that Bates could use his prior knowledge to his advantage. He had a good idea of where to find her.

But he said only, "I'll make inquiries. I'm in no hurry."

Indeed, he truly had plenty of time now. Whereas a day - or what felt like a day before - it was the most precious luxury on earth, something he could never have back again, suddenly time was a commodity he could spend freely. He had months, years even. And as the notion of living the rest of his life without Anna weighted on him, he pushed it away. He could not face the decision he'd made hastily at his mother's kitchen table, not yet.

Mrs. Bates nodded thoughtfully at him. "And where do you plan to come up with the funds for such a venture? Or have you become an heir during your time away and did not share such fortunes with me?"

Bates smiled at his mother's teasing, knowing now what he did not back then – she had plenty of money. She must have saved whatever she'd inherited from her father and put more away each year. The house was hers, although she never let on, and she had a hefty sum in the bank.

"I'll have to find a job," he said.

With a skeptical glance at his leg, she said, "Of course you must work. But what will you do?"

He thought back to his time after he'd gotten out of prison before. He'd sought work in London, of course, doing whatever he could find. His career in the army was over. Even if his injury did not prevent such occupation, his discharge for theft kept him from re-enlisting. But he had training from his time in service, and his history as a batman in the army would qualify him as a valet in civilian life. However, finding a position with his leg in such a state had been impossible, not to mention that he had no letters of reference. Bates also knew that he had to be hired sight unseen, which would be difficult in London. And he had to find a way to avoid explaining what he'd been doing for the past two years.

In his prior life, he'd toiled at odd jobs for several months before securing the position at Downton. His Lordship had hired him immediately upon receiving his application, not asking questions until he'd arrived toting a cane. But that was now out of the question.

He could not go back to Downton, not now.

"When you wrote to say you'd be released early, I started looking for positions," his mother said, catching his attention again. If she noticed how easily he was lost to his own thoughts, she made no mention of it.

"Did you?" he asked.

"Of course, I did not know about... well, about your injury acting up again, when I started looking."

His mother knew about his old wound, of course, but he had not told her about the attack in prison nor the progression of his limp. At the time, he recalled being ashamed of such a weakness. Now it was just a part of his existence, something he had to deal with. Fairness in life, or lack thereof, was something he'd come to terms with long ago.

"I'll need a cane," he informed her, "but I can get along well enough."

They drank their tea together quietly, his mother watching him with concern. But she kept her own counsel, just as she always had. Being in her presence was enough to calm Bates and let him muster through his thoughts. He still had much to consider and decide. But one thing was for certain - this truly was a second chance.

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><p>His mother bought him the cane from a thrift shop near her home, and he smiled with delight as she presented it to him. It was like seeing an old and trusted friend again. The wood was smooth in his palm, but not yet worn into its familiar shape by hours of use. "This will do nicely," Bates stated.<p>

"Should you go to the doctor?" his mother fretted. "Surely there is something-"

Shaking his head, he answered, "It is just the old war injury. Something shifted and it hits me at odd times. It'll settle down again, I'm sure."

His explanation was not quite a lie and not quite the truth. The pain would persist for quite some time, and there was simply nothing he could do. She frowned at him, perhaps sensing his lack of candor despite the attempt at a smile he gave her, but she refused to contradict him.

"And what about work?" she asked.

Months had passed and no one had given him a second's consideration in all the shops and pubs where he'd applied. They all took one look at his limp and informed him coolly that he'd do well to try elsewhere. Bates knew that they were years away from the time when the Great War would bring home scores of injured men, most younger than he. But in 1912, a crippled man was no more than a burden, and his army service did him no favors.

"I'll find something," he said with more confidence than he felt.

Narrowing her eyes, his mother broached softly, "I did see an advertisement a few days ago. Lord Grantham in Yorkshire is seeking a new valet. Didn't you serve with him in Africa?"

His neck burned as their discussion took such an unexpected turn.

Swallowing tightly, Bates nodded. "I did."

"Then perhaps he would consider-"

"I can't."

He interrupted her, a rudeness he rarely afforded his mother. But their conversation so closely paralleled the one from his memory that he could not bear to continue it. Going to Downton would mean seeing Anna again, and he already knew that he could not do that.

"Lord Grantham won't want me as his valet," Bates said with a sigh. "He'll take one look at me and dismiss me on the spot."

"But you saved-" She caught herself before repeating a sore point. Bates had once revealed to her years before in a drunken stupor the cause of his injury, or at least the bare facts of it. He'd been drowning in self pity and lamenting his lot in life, barely realizing he'd been talking aloud let alone to his mother. And while Bates had never begrudged his commanding officer having walked away from that day in Africa unscathed, for a time he'd entertained notions of regret. He was ashamed at the reminder.

"-served with him in Africa," she corrected herself. "Surely that must count for something?"

"I can't go to Downton, mother," he told her. He thought of Anna, of the life she could now have without him interfering. Without him, she could perhaps fine happiness. "His Lordship is far too important to have a lame valet. It wouldn't be right."

"Why ever not? Even if he dismisses you, what have you lost?"

Her question brought him up short, although her words hit him in a way other than she likely intended.

What did he have to lose? He _could_ go to Downton, at least for a time. Bates knew already that Lord Grantham would dismiss him after a few months before changing his mind. But he could still take his leave and return to London, refusing to let the Earl compromise his household. But in that time, he could see Anna. She would not know him, and it would hurt to see her again as a stranger. But he could assure himself that she was indeed alive and well and the young, happy woman he'd first met so long ago.

And he could not deny, he needed to see her. As much as Bates resisted the urge welling up from within him, it was like a physical pull, one he was helpless to deny.

Just a few months, he thoughts. When his employer finally caved to the pressures of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to let him go, Bates would leave without complaint or resistance. He could not stay, he knew, not if he wanted Anna to live out her life without entanglements with him. But he could at least see her, one last time. He could meet her again and say goodbye properly, leaving her to the life she should have had all along.

"If you wish it, I will apply," he told his mother. "But if he takes me, I'm sure it won't be for long."

His mother flashed him a hopeful smile. "I have faith, Johnny."

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><p>TBC<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so glad people are sticking with this story despite the rocky and emotional beginning. I appreciate the reviews and PM's. Your feedback makes all the difference to me.**

**And for those that remind me I still have another story to finish, believe me, I know. ;-)**

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><p>The ride on the train brought back a flood of memories as Bates watched the beautiful Yorkshire scenery speed past his window. Such a perfect morning to travel, he knew, even though he had been up before dawn to catch the milk train. His old leather case had seemed heavy when he stepped onto the platform, as though he were carrying with him an entire lifetime of memories to the place where they would once again be real.<p>

The air smelled sweeter outside of London, and Bates' steps were eager as he left his third class compartment. He did not need to ask directions to the house but he did so anyway, careful to play the part of a man going to a new and unfamiliar place rather than a home he'd known and loved for years. The walk to the Abbey gave him time to clear his head and bolster himself for what was to come.

He approached the great house slowly, taking it in as though for the first time. The grand edifice had not changed, although it seemed fresh and new to Bates. Walking from the station had proved difficult, the pain in his knee both familiar and new. He hadn't realized how much it hurt back then - how it hurt now. But he was determined to carry through with this plan he'd set for himself.

Bates knocked at the back door but no one answered, just as he remembered. Taking a deep breath as he fortified himself, he turned the unlocked handle and pushed the door in. The smells of the kitchen and sounds of servants talking and scurrying about assailed his senses and brought back a flood of memories. And for a moment, he hesitated.

Was he making the right decision, coming here? Would it be better if he turned around and began a new life, far away from this place? But what kind of life could he have now, being as close to the work house as he'd been before. And Anna... Closing his eyes, he reminded himself of what it felt like to lose her. Anything was preferable to her death, even a lifetime of loneliness. But surely he could just see her?

He tried to get a sense of whether he was doing right or if this course of action would once again lead to heartache and ruin. But nothing came to him, and he was left to his own guidance. In the end, there was nothing for it but to go through with what he had started.

Bates walked the length of the hall slowly, taking careful steps to the staircase. Instinctively, he followed the sound of voices, female voices. And just as occurred all those years ago in his memory, he watched as three female figures descended the stairs.

He knew what was about to happen. This moment was ingrained in his memory from a thousand sleepless nights. It was the moment his entire life had changed, even though he did not know it at the time.

Freezing at the sight of her, his breath caught in his chest. Miss O'Brien stood before him, but he looked past the lady's maid, having eyes only for one woman of the three.

Anna looked so young, so incredibly young and beautiful. Her figure was tiny and slender, not large with child as he'd last seen her. And her eyes did not light up as she saw him, not the way he remembered during every day of their marriage. But they did show a curious interest, not unkind and suspicious like Miss O'Brien.

They were discussing the death of the heirs in the sinking of the Titanic, he realized belatedly, but their conversation stopped at the sight of him. Bates reminded himself that he was a strange man in their midst, and that he needed to explain himself.

"Hello," he said, feeling suddenly awkward and self aware. "I knocked at the back door, but no one answered."

His eyes stayed glued to Anna's for a moment, and he had to forcibly shift them to O'Brien, who looked at him like something foul she needed to scrape off her boots.

"So you pushed in?" she accused.

He barely heard her. He barely heard himself as he introduced himself. O'Brien's condescending manner was unchanged from their first meeting as she none too subtly looked at his cane. But Bates could not spare a thought for her, not while he was waiting impatiently for that moment, the one he remembered -

And then it arrived.

"I'm Anna, the head housemaid."

She shifted the bundle of unwashed linens in her arms so she could shake his hand. He accepted it eagerly - not too eagerly, he hoped - and returned her smile of welcome. Despite having months in London to prepare himself for this introduction, it still was not enough.

Anna was there. She was alive and well and had no idea who he was. She barely even looked like herself, as though the years had melted away from her leaving only a kind-faced young woman in a maid's uniform, her blonde hair tucked under her white cap. To anyone else, she might just be another servant, slight and pale and unassuming in her manner. But to Bates, the heavens might as well have opened up and placed one of their angels back on earth for a time.

O'Brien was still speaking, although the only words which registered as his eyes slid away from Anna was the admonition that he should go with the maids. He followed dutifully, and as he stooped to retrieve his bag, Anna afforded him a secret smile. He beamed at her in return, unable to contain himself.

His heart was beating fast as he introduced himself to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The conversation with the butler and the others went just as he remembered. Bates had no trouble assuring them that he could manage despite his disability. Inwardly, he found the situation humorous. He knew what all of them did not - he knew what was to happen over the next decade. And he knew beyond all shadow of a doubt that he could perform as valet to Lord Grantham. With such knowledge of what was to come, the worries over the extra duties seemed very minuscule indeed.

"I can manage," he said again, as Mrs. Patmore made mention of the stairs, her blunt manner a welcome sound to his ears.

They were all a welcome sight to him, and Bates realized that after so many months in London that he'd missed this place. He'd missed these people, the individuals who had become like a family to him at his time at Downton. He tried not to feel hurt as the housekeeper looked at him without regard, as though he were a problem to fix and not a real person. He had forgotten how difficult this moment had been back then, repeatedly assuring everyone from Mr. Carson down to Daisy that he could perform the work for which he'd been hired to do.

"Of course you can," Anna stated behind him, and he turned back to look at her.

Her smile held none of the apprehension that he saw in the others' expressions. For a moment, Bates felt as though she was the Anna he'd known before, the woman who'd shared his life and his bed for so many years.

Perhaps she had been transported back in time as well? Could he even dare to hope such was the case? He met her eyes with a soul full of questions, but saw no recognition reflected back at him. No, she did not know him. Her support was exactly as it had been back then, kind and friendly when the others were disposed to see him as nothing more than a cripple.

No one spoke to contradict Anna's declaration and Mr. Carson ordered one of the footmen to show Bates around. The moment of drama was over and the room cleared as everyone went back to their assigned responsibilities. Despite the stress of the confrontation, he found that being back at Downton left him feeling more relaxed, the ordered chaos below stairs at the great house a familiar rhythm to him.

Events proceeded to unfold just as he remembered. Thomas gave him a tour and brief instructions on his duties, leaving many things out as the footman made what he recognized were deliberate attempts to sabotage his new employment. But Bates paid little mind to any of it. He already knew Lord Grantham's tastes and the job he was expected to do. Performing his work would be the easy part of all this.

His greatest difficulty came when he settled into his room upstairs. The four walls encompassed much more space than his cell in prison, which he now remembered keenly. But he could not help but recall the cottage he'd shared with his wife. It seemed so long ago now, so far away in all directions of time.

Sighing, Bates also reminded himself that Anna was no longer his wife. This Anna did not belong to him. He no longer had any claim on her at all. Within a few months, he would leave Downton forever and she would be safe from the pain he was sure to bring to her existence if he stayed.

But seeing her alive! It was worth the pain of their inevitable parting. For a few minutes, he allowed the image of her and the sound of her voice to fill him with renewed ecstasy. The color had finally come back into his world.

* * *

><p>Thomas made no bones about his disgust at Bates having been hired over him as valet. At the time, Bates had let the snide remarks and asides go, not wanting to make waves at his new employment. But they grated at him now, a reminder of the other man's ill temper and bad nature. He wondered if he shouldn't stay at Downton just long enough to see Thomas fired. It would be easy enough to arrange.<p>

But no, he could not do it. He could not be the reason for another man to lose his place, even Thomas. Even now.

He unpacked his things in his room and returned downstairs for the midday meal. The others watched him, he realized - not just the junior maids and hall boys but also Mrs. Hughes and Anna. Their eyes traveled from his cane to his leg, trying to discern his injury and perhaps its origin. While he'd once been used to such attention, Bates found it disconcerting for people he was so familiar with to suddenly be so preoccupied with something he no longer gave a second thought.

But Anna sat beside him at the table, and her presence drove away all other distractions.

"Are you from London, Mister Bates?" she asked him quietly. He smiled at the question, appreciating her kindness anew in this strange place which was the Downton of his memory rather than of his present, or what used to be his present.

Before he could answer, Mr. Carson began a discourse on the greatness of the Downton house and family. Bates listened dutifully, although the lecture amused him in light of his history. He perhaps knew better than anyone about the standards maintained at Downton, making the butler's remarks both outdated and ironically truthful. But when he began to give the valet tips if he should become tongue-tied in front of his employer, Bates could not help but enjoy what he remembered would come next.

"Bates!"

The Earl's appearance was more resounding than a shotgun, dragging in its wake the immediate sound of every chair in the room scraping backwards as the servants stood to attention. Bates was already prepared and got to his feet with ease.

Immediately realizing the effect his appearance had on those at the meal, Lord Grantham apologized as he rounded the table to see his old friend. Bates enjoyed witnessing the delight in the other man's eyes at his appearance, although it hurt tremendously as he watched the Earl's expression become more neutral as he noticed the cane.

But he said nothing of it, instead encouraging the others to sit even as he greeted the new valet. "I just wanted to say a quick hello to my old comrade. Bates, my dear fellow, welcome to Downton."

Bates shook his hand without trepidation, making certain to reflect his gratitude in his expression as he thanked his Lordship. The reunion was precious to him, and he did not realize how much until the other man had departed. At the time this moment had first occurred, he had not entirely realized how rarely Lord Grantham made it to the servants' hall, nor did he fully appreciate what an honor it was to be so singled out.

Upon reflection later, he would acknowledge that it was even more than the honor of his former commander's greeting. In this timeline, he had not seen Robert Crawley since their army days, but in his own, he was seeing an old friend again after many months. Bates had so focused on seeing Anna again that he had not thought to consider how he would feel at once again meeting his employer and former commander.

His emotions were a confused jumble as he sat back down at the table, the other servants staring at him with a mixture of renewed curiosity and fresh respect. He saw in their eyes an understanding of why he had been hired, despite his disability, that he had not duped his Lordship but was an old, trusted comrade.

"You never asked," he informed them.

* * *

><p><em>TBC<em>


	5. Chapter 5

Despite his surprise at the limp and cane, Lord Grantham appeared genuinely glad to have his old batman with him again. They worked together with such flawless synergy that it seemed Bates could anticipate the Earl's every whim and desire, as though no time at all had passed since they'd fought together in South Africa.

And yet, his Lordship still questioned his ability to manage, asking about the stairs and the house. Bates' answer was much the same as it had been before. But when Lord Grantham wanted to know what had happened, why he now walked with a cane, his expression of sympathy bordering on pity, Bates suddenly felt an attack of conscience. Should he be truthful this time? Should he tell his employer about the conviction for theft right away? Or would that put his Lordship in an untenable position, adding the sin of being a criminal to his lameness?

While Bates planned to leave before long anyway, he still could not bear to be let go so soon. He had only enjoyed a few moments with Anna, and none alone. He had seen her, certainly, had assured himself that she still drew breath. But he wanted a bit more time, perhaps some stolen time with her. Confession would lead to his immediate dismissal, so he said something about the shrapnel shifting and his knee playing up, making no mention of the inmate who'd ambushed him in prison.

"But I'm fine," he said, almost too strongly. "It's not a problem."

Lord Grantham seemed a bit skeptical but did not press the issue, not then. As it happened, the Earl seemed to be the most inclined to believe his repeated entreaties that he could keep up with the work.

They talked about him behind his back downstairs, Bates knew. He thought he'd been prepared for it, but so many years had passed in his mind since first coming to Downton. Before, he'd earned the respect of everyone who worked there, including the younger maids and hall boys. But now, it was as though all his efforts had been washed away in a tide. They were waiting for him to make mistakes, to prove their doubts about his abilities were well founded.

Perhaps it was pride, but Bates had no wish to look a fool once more, especially not in front of Anna. She'd never treated him badly when he'd first arrived, but knowing that his time there would be short, he vainly wished to leave with her a favorable impression.

So he took pains to avoid little mistakes, like dropping things and tripping. The sudden flares of pain in his knee made it difficult to anticipate when such errors might occur, but he was vigilant. Unfortunately, his memory was not perfect. There were so many events of everyday life that he'd forgotten over the years, tedious tasks and awkward encounters. But even worse, not everything was the same. With each deviation he made from the timeline he knew, other events happened.

In one such instance, Gwen bumped into him on the stairs, nearly knocking him off balance. She'd gone white as a sheet as she instinctively reached for his arm to steady him, in the process knocking his cane from his hand. Bates heard it tumble down several steps.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mister Bates!" she exclaimed as she scrambled to retrieve it, clearly mortified.

"It's quite all right," he told her easily, even as he leaned on the railing for balance. "I was equally in the wrong."

"My mother always complained about me being so clumsy," she murmured, handing him back the stick. And as their eyes met, he suddenly saw something in them he'd never seen before - a spark of commiseration.

"I understand completely," he told Gwen with a smile, accepting the cane from her grasp.

The moment was one he had never shared with the red-haired housemaid before, and Bates found that he rather enjoyed the fresh experience to get to know the young woman. Gwen was always kind to him. But it was fleeting and they were soon obliged to go about their duties.

* * *

><p>As days turned into weeks, Bates quickly found that the hardest thing of all was to be near Anna. To her, he was a stranger. She treated him kindly and inquired as to his background, but she did not know him, not as he knew her. He felt fairly guilty as he realized how very intimately he knew this woman, how many nights they'd spent together in the privacy of their cottage, how many secrets they'd shared in their time together. But she knew nothing about him.<p>

Anna did ask questions, of course, just as he remembered she had done when he first came to Downton before. "Are you very familiar with Yorkshire, Mister Bates?"

"Some," he told her softly, knowing it was a partial truth. "But I grew up in London."

"Do you have brothers and sisters?"

He shook his head. "No, it was just me."

Her inquisitiveness was tempered by manners as she only made polite conversation when they happened to be seated next to each other at meals. Bates found that he both longed for and dreaded those times. Anna was so different, and yet, she was exactly as he remembered her. At times, his emotions got the best of him and he had trouble answering her amicably, often letting their asides drop into uncomfortable silence.

At night, he dreamed of his wife, the woman who knew and loved him. _His_ Anna had more wrinkles and a few gray hairs she frowned at in the mirror. He mourned for the loss of her despite his odd circumstances. He mourned the loss of the child which had been buried beside her, a life he missed despite never having known the babe, despite sometimes cursing the unfortunate creature for how they'd both died. But it wasn't the baby's fault, he reminded himself. Anna never should have fallen pregnant to begin with. The blame fell on him.

And in the morning, after dressing and splashing water on his face to hide the puffy redness from crying, he descended the stairs to see Anna once again, bright eyed and cheerful as she went about her duties. The strangeness of it all left him off balance and irritable.

Daisy seemed to have the same trouble letting go of the Titanic disaster as before. She brought it up occasionally with the others as she tried to work through her own thoughts on the tragedy. Anna encouraged her to drop the subject and Gwen brought him into the conversation by mentioning the war in South Africa. He admitted missing the army, although not war itself.

Anna looked at him fondly. Chills went through his veins as he realized that she was already developing a regard for him, perhaps because of his military service, perhaps from his connection with Lord Grantham. Either way, despite their few interactions, she was clearly disposed to think well of anything he had to say. With the clarity of experience and hindsight, he noticed her gaze fall on him at odd moments, her expression soft and thoughtful.

It was not a lightening bolt of love like they described in novels, but Bates realized he needed to take care. He had not come to Downton to have this woman fall for him all over again. Breaking her heart was the last thing he could possibly want.

Gwen asked him to hand her a tray, and in his distraction, he moved wrong to get it. Pain radiated up his leg, seizing his muscles and making his fingers go weak. The tray dropped to the ground in a tremendous, noisy crash which was only emphasized by the resounding silence that followed. His hand went to his knee, the pain momentarily unbearable.

"I'll do it," Anna said, rounding the table to clear up the mess.

He burned with shame as she stooped to pick up the contents of the tray from the floor, not only at his moment of weakness but at having allowed this mistake to happen all over again. His stomach twisted as he thought of what else about this life might be repeated if he did not take steps to avoid it.

"No," he said sharply, batting her hand away. Anna took a step back, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion at his sudden annoyance. "I am not an invalid," Bates informed her. "I can clean up my own messes."

"I only wanted to help-"

"I don't need your help."

By the time he had righted the tray and its contents, Anna was gone.

* * *

><p>He made certain to anticipate Miss O'Brien's attempt to trip him at the Duke's visit, justifying that it was a small event in the grand scheme but a large one for him. Rather than let her and Thomas flank him in the line, at the last moment he took the space beside Anna, who gave him a curious look but said nothing of the discontinuity. Perhaps she chalked it up to his unfamiliarity with the procedure. Of course, O'Brien frowned at this but made sure to stand to his right. Carson glanced down at them, his eyes narrowing in annoyance, but it was too late to reorder the servants. The Duke's car was coming.<p>

He kept his eyes forward as the young noble was greeted by the family. He barely remembered the man, although something about him gave Bates an uneasy feeling, especially the familiar manner in which he addressed Thomas. Experiencing the scene with foreknowledge made everything different, clearer. He knew the nobleman was keen on Mary in hopes that her position had improved, that the entail might be broken. But he had no interest in Mary herself, nor did he seem to have an eye for any of the Crawley sisters. Bates forced himself to ignore it and focus on what he remembered of this moment.

He waited for the kick, making sure to balance on his good leg and put no pressure on the cane. When it spun out from his grasp, the stick went flying into the gravel in front of the assembled servants, but Bates reached out a hand to clasp Anna's shoulder beside him to keep from falling. She froze in place at his touch but quickly understood what was happening.

Carson's eyes went from the cane to Bates and widened in horror, but then they traveled to a very surprised Ms. O'Brien, who had stumbled slightly as her foot encountered such little resistance.

Lord Grantham paused on his way into the house, looking curiously at the cane on the ground in front of the car. "Bates, are you all right?" he asked.

"Perfectly, milord," he answered easily, keeping his eyes forward as he leaned on Anna. "I'm sure it was just an accident."

He spoke the words carefully, allowing his tone to implicate the lady's maid beside him. The vile woman's mouth dropped open but she said nothing. The family went into the house.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Anna smirk as she stood at attention. The Earl nodded and followed the rest of the family and their guest into the house. As soon as they were out of sight, Carson stalked over to Bates and O'Brien, who had already turned to go.

"Exactly what just happened?" the butler demanded.

"Well I-" O'Brien began awkwardly.

"I believe Miss O'Brien accidentally kicked her foot out. I can't imagine she'd purposely try to make me fall," Bates said quickly, his meaning very clear as he met Mr. Carson's eyes. "Luckily Anna was here to assist me."

"Was no accident," Anna muttered angrily, but Carson simply raised an eyebrow at the valet's explanation.

"Everyone get back inside," he instructed. With utmost dignity, Carson stooped to retrieve Bates' cane and handed it to him, allowing him to relinquish his hold on Anna's shoulder. Off to one side, Mrs. Hughes smiled at him kindly before quickly following Carson into the house.

"Were you hurt, Mister Bates?" Anna asked, the two of them momentarily alone.

"Not at all," he answered, his voice stiff and withdrawn. "I apologize for touching you in such a familiar manner just now."

She waved off his statement. "I'm only glad I could help."

He felt grateful to have avoided that particular humiliation, but irritated with himself for involving Anna. He needed to poison her burgeoning affection for him, not feed it. And at the moment, she was looking at him with not sympathy, but admiration. And something else, the seeds of something more, an affection he had to stunt now before it grew to overtake her.

"Your pity is no help to me," he told her coldly.

Her forehead wrinkled at his sharpness, and he turned from her to walk slowly back around the house to the servants' entrance. After a moment, Anna followed him slowly, keeping pace with his slower step. She tried to engage him in conversation once they were safely back in the servant's hall, to offer an apology if she'd offended him, but he was brisk with her to the point of rudeness. Looking away from her hurt expression, he tried to ignore the ache in his gut at being so cruel to her when she showed him nothing but kindness.

But he needed to be cruel. She could not fall in love with him, not again. Her life depended on it.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

"Based on Mister Bates' statement that what happened was not intentional, I will take this no further," Carson warned. "But I am _most_ displeased."

O'Brien said little during the butler's dressing down, and indeed the man had skated a fine line. As a lady's maid, her employment was at the discretion of Lady Grantham, but no servant could count their future secure if they did not have some support from the butler and housekeeper. For her part, Mrs. Hughes seemed unhappy about the incident but allowed Mr. Carson to speak for both of them on the matter.

"Are we quite finished?" O'Brien asked archly.

"For now."

Bates stood to one side, the only other person in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, and O'Brien did not look at him as she left.

"Are you quite all right, Mister Bates?" the housekeeper asked once the other woman had gone. "That was a dirty trick, even from her."

Smiling more magnanimously than he felt, Bates answered, "I can't say for certain that it was a trick. I'd like to believe she would never put the honor of this house at risk just to aid me in playing the fool."

Carson made a sound in his throat which belied his own confidence on the subject. "Well, I suppose it could have been much worse. Now if you'll excuse me..."

He left the valet alone with the housekeeper, who smiled at him kindly. Mrs. Hughes had slowly warmed up to him since his arrival, although she still clearly retained doubts about his abilities. "Anna said it looked like no accident to her," she told Bates.

The thought of the housemaid getting herself into trouble with Thomas and O'Brien made him nervous. "She was in no real position to observe the incident," he assured her.

Mrs. Hughes studied him for a quiet moment before observing, "She seems quite taken with you, Mister Bates."

He froze at the comment, never having heard this woman say such a thing to him before, and certainly not so early in their acquaintance. "Anna?" he asked, feigning disbelief. "I don't believe that is the case."

"Don't you?" she said knowingly. "Anna's a smart girl who knows her own mind. Just try not to break her heart."

Clearly having been dismissed, Bates made his way to the door. "That is the last thing I would wish, Mrs. Hughes," he assured her.

* * *

><p>Voices. He heard them down the hall as he made his way up the last steps. And as he neared his room, Bates noticed Lady Mary step out of the open doorway of another room. Bates felt genuine surprise at seeing her in the male servant's quarters, having forgotten this particular encounter. The first time, Bates had written off the incident as a young woman being bold with a male suitor. But now, reliving the awkward moment, he saw shame in the lady's eyes. Shame and fear.<p>

"Can I help you, milady?" he asked.

"We were just... looking around," she tried to explain, appearing much like a mouse attempting to explain its presence to an old and worldly cat.

Behind her, the Duke slipped out of Thomas' room. And in that instant, Bates understood what was going on. He recognized in the peer what he had not before - a definite lack of romantic interest and instead a predatory flirtation. He was using Mary for some scheme of his own.

"May I help you with something, your Grace?" he asked the man knowingly. "I believe Thomas is downstairs if you wish me to fetch him for you."

The Duke stayed composed as he said, "That won't be necessary. We were just looking around."

The other man was unimportant, so Bates focused his attention back on the Earl's eldest daughter. Something about the moment seemed important to Bates, as though he needed to make an impression on Lady Mary but was not sure how he should go about it. What had he said to her before, in this moment? Bates had no idea why the Duke was in the footman's room, but he suspected that Mary was just a pawn in a game played by the two men. Having observed their interaction outside with greater understanding, he very much doubted his Grace was of the type to favor any woman, let alone one of Lord Grantham's daughters.

He scoured his memory, trying to recall-

With a nod more to himself than the others, Bates reached around and opened the door to his own quarters. "Do you wish to 'look around' my room, milady?" he asked her with perfect humbleness, ignoring her companion.

The question was a rebuke, one he suddenly recalled being a defining moment in his interactions with the young woman. Ever after this encounter, Lady Mary had afforded him respect and a touch of deference in their dealings. Somehow, he knew he would need that from her going forward.

His offer inspired utter embarrassment in the woman, as he knew it would.

"Of course not, Bates," she muttered, apologizing as she backpedaled. He watched as they both walked quickly away and slipped out through the door to the women's side, and he thought about Thomas. Should he tell the footman that the Duke had been in his room? He sometimes wondered if he'd made more of an effort with the man in his early days rather than give in to the temptation to make him the butt of jokes, that Thomas would have grown tired of toying with him. But if he deliberately messed with the future, it might change events dramatically and take them well out of his control.

And Bates would be leaving soon anyway, so what did any of it matter? Lady Mary and the Duke left, locking the open door to the women's quarters behind them. Bates remembered thinking that at the time he first lived through this encounter, Lady Mary was attempting to assert herself as ready to be a great lady of a great house. But reflecting on it now, he realized she was still but a girl, one impressionable and easily toyed with.

Frowning, he thought about the incident with the Turkish Ambassador and wondered if it was possible to alter the fact that others found out about it - not just the damage to Mary's reputation but Anna's involvement. He hoped to end Vera's interest in the subject by leaving, but she had gotten the story from Lady Flintcher's household servants. Would it be worse for both women if he was not around to ensure the silence of others? The possibilities swam through his mind and made him dizzy.

Bates brooded on the matter for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>With the Duke of Crowborough's arrival, Bates knew his time at Downton was quickly growing short. He had planned to leave on the same train as the man, to take Lord Grantham's dismissal with dignity and go without a fight. And even if he hadn't sealed his dismissal by falling victim to O'Brien's cruel trick, the scheming servants had likely still managed to bend Mr. Carson's ear against him. He could see it in the butler's disapproving eyes every time they fell on Bates' cane. Even without the display of his falling, he would be dismissed from his service at Downton. He knew it with the certainty of a man who had lived his life once already. Tonight would be his last night in the house, his last opportunity to see Anna.<p>

But as Bates made his way up the stairs to Lord Grantham's dressing room, a sudden feeling of panic swept over him.

It was not enough. He needed more time.

While he'd kept Anna at arm's length to protect her, his subtle unfriendliness to her had taken a toll on his heart. The morning's encounter as they greeted the Duke was but one of a number of moments when he'd been unkind to her. Bates knew what he was doing was necessary so she would not fall in love with him, but he hated himself for treating her badly. Anna Smith deserved every bit of kindness he could possibly lay at her feet. Coming to Downton was selfish of him, horribly selfish, and yet... he was weak.

He was a very weak man. Because he could not go, not yet. Every time he tried to reconcile himself with leaving on the morning train, his heart screamed at him to stay.

"What about Green?" he asked himself. "I have to stay to protect her."

But the valet would not visit Downton for years yet, and Bates knew he could ensure the man never reached Anna. But there were so many other things he could change, things he could do to make life better for her. What if she married someone else and died in childbirth just as she had in his memory? What if she never married, never experienced love and devotion and became as jaded a creature as Ms. O'Brien?

Whatever his justifications, it all boiled down to one inescapable fact.

He could not leave Anna. Not yet.

Bates needed to be near her, to watch over her and keep her safe. In his own mind, he negated the concern of his own danger to her by renewing his determination to remain detached. He should not be cruel to her, but disinterested. As long as she did not love him, she could not suffer the hardships her association with him had wrought on her life.

He wished he had more time to consider the puzzle his mind had provided him, but Bates was forced to push away his conflicted thoughts as he assisted his employer with dressing for dinner. He scrambled mentally for an argument that would convince the Earl to let him stay, not trusting in his Lordship's sudden change of heart. There was no guarantee he would change his mind as he'd done before. Nothing was guaranteed, not any more.

But in the end, all his worrying came to naught. No discussion was made of him leaving.

Bates stayed on edge the entire time he assisted Lord Grantham, waiting for that inevitable moment. But it never happened. The Earl chatted to him about the day, curious about what his Grace's visit might hold for Mary's future, but also wary of the man. And he spoke of upcoming trips to London, about his worries regarding the new heir. But he did not tell Bates he was fired. Instead, he seemed amused that the Duke of Crowborough had caught his daughter's eye.

"I always got the impression he was a bit of a dandy," the man said with a frown as Bates fastened his cufflinks.

"I don't know about that, milord," he answered, even as he considered and rejected divulging the Duke's visit to Thomas' room, "but I suspect Lady Mary could do better for herself."

"Better than a Duke?" his Lordship asked with a chuckle.

"What do rank and privilege mean if you can't respect your partner in life?" Bates asked.

The Earl nodded at his question but did not pursue it. "So what was that business with you out in front of the house this morning?"

Finally, there it was. The lead-in to his final hours at the house. He straightened.

"It was nothing, my lord, and I apologize if it caused any embarrassment."

"Did O'Brien deliberately try to trip you? Carson suggested that might be the case."

Bates felt a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had changed the future, irrevocably. Not only was Lord Grantham not going to sack him at the butler's insistence, but now both men seemed to be eyeing the lady's maid.

"I can't imagine she'd do any such thing purposefully, milord," Bates said.

With a snort, the other man said, "I can, but never mind that. Are things working out down stairs? I know Carson is still upset about the extra footman duties, but everyone seem to be adjusting well enough."

"I believe so."

His heart beat a little faster as he wondered what the ramifications might be of this development. Once he finished dressing his employer for dinner, he went downstairs and found the others busying themselves with the preparations for the meal. Anna sat in the servant's hall at the table, chatting with Gwen as she worked on some mending.

She glanced up as he entered but did not speak to him. On the other hand, Gwen offered him a shy smile. "You look rather down, Mister Bates," she observed.

"I'm just worried I've ruined something," he admitted. "And I'm not sure how to fix it."

Looking up, he noticed Anna met his eyes, her own expression full of regret.

"I know the feeling," the housemaid said before turning her gaze back to her work.

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><p><em>TBC<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left me a review for this story. Many non-writers may not realize how precious feedback really is and how much we writers truly appreciate it when you take a moment to let us know what you think.**

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><p>The next morning, the Duke of Crowborough left, and there was no discussion of Bates riding with him to the train station. In fact, there was no talk at all about Bates leaving. It seemed his avoidance of the fall in front of the entire household had managed to save him from dismissal, although he wondered if that event was something that was supposed to happen, if it was part of his fate which he should have rightly avoided through Lord Grantham's last minute change of heart.<p>

Unfortunately, the debacle did not prevent O'Brien and Thomas from continuing to scheme against him. If anything, the eyes suddenly cast in O'Brien's direction made her even more intent on getting rid of the valet, as though he'd personally fronted her by thwarting her plan. The two villains messed with his Lordship's laundry to ensure white shirts were ruined or bad stains set. Small items disappeared or were put in odd places like brushes and combs. Bates was left on his toes in struggling to anticipate the next attack. Everything they did was new and unfamiliar, and from a detached perspective, he rather marveled at O'Brien's creativity. Of course the plots had to be hers; Thomas never had been much of a tactician.

He kept up with the tricks the best he could, but periodically something would slip through. Lord Grantham or Mister Carson would frown when they discovered something missing or ruined, but neither man accused Bates of incompetence. Rather, as the weeks passed, they both seemed irritated that the valet could not ensure that his duties were carried out without interference from the other servants.

The situation left Bates irritated and unhappy, not the least which reason being that he had no one to talk to about it. Anna stayed out of his way, a quiet ghost who always seemed nearby but completely out of reach. Rather than sit by him or laugh with him in the servants' hall, she kept company with Gwen and the other housemaids. While he continued to treat her coldly, with distance rather than quiet reserve, each interaction they did share felt like a knife between his ribs. Much to his unhappiness, her smiles seemed to grow more rare each day.

Hurting her was never part of the arrangement. And he should be gone by now, turned out of the house following his spectacular fail at the start of the Duke's visit. Through his own vanity, he'd avoided that fall and now he would be forced to resign if he changed his mind and decided to leave. But a truth gnawed at him as uneasily as Anna's obvious sadness: he did not wish to leave Downton. He did not wish to leave _her_.

He tried every day to justify to himself that making her hate him might be enough to salvage her future. If she despised him, she would never fall in love, and he would never hurt her. She would remain safe and protected at Downton or wherever she ventured forth in the world.

But what if she married someone else? He sometimes fretted over what would happen if another man made her his wife, got her with child. There would be nothing he could do. He could only worry about the role he'd played in her tragic end having always believed that he alone was responsible, not the very natural process of pregnancy. His child. His curse. Someone else more worthy might be able to give her the family she'd always dreamed of having.

In the end, his dismissal came quite unexpectedly only a few weeks later. The catalyst was a small thing - a stack of his Lordship's shirts going missing before the dinner to greet the new Crawley heir. Bates could not find them, no matter where he looked, and for once, Lord Grantham was unsympathetic.

"Someone must have moved them," the valet stated, burning with embarrassment.

"Whatever enemies you've created downstairs are your own business," the Earl said severely, "but they should not impact your work."

"No, milord. I agree."

Luckily, he found one clean shirt, although there was a spot which had been cleaned which was not quite dry. "It will have to do," his employer said, pulling on the garment with obviously irritation.

Simultaneously, word got to Carson that Bates had said some negative things about the new heir down in the village. It was a rumor Ms. O'Brien likely dreamed up following her own dressing down from Lady Grantham after such comments made in the servants' hall. But somehow word go to the postman, who mentioned it to William, and the footman reluctantly passed on the information to Mr. Carson.

By the time he went up to help Lord Grantham dress for bed, the die was cast. He'd changed the future with his actions, Bates realized, and it showed in the way his Lordship dismissed him. The other man's words were different, his explanations worded in ways he did not remember. The apology was absent from his voice, instead replaced by annoyance and indignation. But the result was still the same - Bates was to leave in the morning.

"I'm very keen to stay milord," he said, suddenly feeling a wave of panic. He'd be taken away from Anna. Fear like nothing he had felt in a long time drenched Bates' skin and burrowed into his bones. He was light headed and could not help but remember the night his wife went into labor. His terror was the same, just as guilt played at him that he should have done things properly. Bates cursed himself for having altered his timeline, for having stupidly and inadvertently creating this situation.

He needed to stay to protect Anna. The thought of trying to make a life elsewhere was impossible, not if he could not assure himself with his own eyes and ears that she remained safe.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Bates," the Earl said. "But it just isn't working out."

There was reluctance in his eyes, but clearly Lord Grantham was not yet prepared to let him stay on. Perhaps he wouldn't this time. Bates may have avoided the fall in front of Duke, but the mistakes and mishaps caused by Thomas and O'Brien ever since had added up to a tidy sum.

"I'm very keen to stay mi'lord," he reiterated with more than a touch of desperation. "If it is a matter of the extra footman duties-"

"It is more than that," the other man interrupted. "Little things, slip ups and the like which I would not have expected from you."

Bates sighed, unable to deny the charges laid at his feet. He could not implicate Thomas and O'Brien without it sounding like an excuse. Besides, he was responsible for ensuring his employer was properly dressed and his things sorted. It was not just his job but his duty. Only a lesser man would blame others.

"I understand, milord."

The Earl seemed suddenly troubled as he dismissed the valet, but Bates carried a heart too heavy to notice as he walked back downstairs. While sympathetic, Mr. Carson showed no surprise as he relayed to Bates the rumor that had made it to his ears from the village.

"I would never say anything against his Lordship's family," Bates defended the charge. "And I only know of one person below stairs who would make such comments so publicly."

They both knew he was referring to O'Brien, who's scolding by her mistress had quickly reached very member of the downstairs staff. Carson studied him with contemplation but said nothing in reply.

"Thank for the opportunity," Bates told the butler, and shook the man's hand. "If it is all right with you, I would like to spend the evening alone in my room."

"Of course."

He spoke to no one else as he went upstairs, not even Anna who watched him from her place in the servant's hall with such sympathy and longing that he hated himself anew. He had ruined things by meddling. Seeking to avoid the embarrassment of tripping in front of the household, in front of Anna and his Lordship, he'd ruined everything.

All he could do was wait and hope beyond hope that Lord Grantham would have another change of heart. It seemed unlikely now, as the grounds for his dismissal were much more solid than before. But as Bates sat alone in his room, he did not grieve for this lost chance. In truth, he'd never been entitled to it to begin with. And if his leaving could spare Anna's life, he'd go without complaint.

Instead, as the darkness of the future he was facing settled over him, Bates found himself unable to contain his tears as he thought about Anna, _his Anna_, the woman who had been his wife. Memories of her death had plagued him since he'd come to Downton, showing behind his eyes like movie reels and invading his dreams. He could hear her voice, weak and quiet after a long labor... a labor which in the end robbed him of everything he held dear.

Anna, his darling wife. Their only child. Her only pregnancy. In the days after her death, before the funeral, he wondered if it hadn't been fate that kept her from becoming pregnant sooner. And he agonized whether it was a fate he'd somehow thwarted by insisting that they continue to try even after the years marched on. Perhaps she was too old or her body just too small and fragile for the rigors of birth. Perhaps Bates should have insisted that she give birth in a hospital and not at the cottage with a midwife as she'd wanted... He should have gone for the doctor sooner, or-

"Mister Bates? Are you there?"

Anna.

The sweet, Yorkshire accent at his door refocused him on the present.

He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, determined that she not see him so upset. With a sigh and a mental scolding to control his emotions, Bates made his way to the door, which he'd accidentally left open a jar in his earlier fog of emotions. Outside in the corridor stood Anna, just as he remembered.

It wasn't the same moment as they'd shared before; it couldn't be. But she was there just the same. She was there with a tray of food for him. He'd never forgotten this particular kindness to him in the past, but now he marveled at it given how unfriendly he'd been to her over the past months.

Anna looked so beautiful that it physically hurt to set eyes on her. She was the same person as the woman he'd been mourning, the very same, untouched by the ravages of time and all the hardship he'd put her through. The maid's uniform had always suited her figure and her hair pulled tightly back into a bun showed off her slender neck and jaw line. He'd seen her only a short time earlier downstairs, but just the sight of her looking at him with such sad concern inspired in him a desire he never thought he'd feel again after _his _Anna died. It was not a physical desire, but a longing which came from deep within, as though his soul cried out for hers.

Offering him the tray filled with supper, Anna could obviously tell that he'd been crying, but she said nothing on that score. He thanked her for the food and set it aside, sustenance the furthest thing from his mind. Turning to face her again, to see the empathy in her face, was as painful as pouring salt into an open wound.

"I'm sorry you're going," she said before he could close the door, her tone betraying more emotion than he remembered. But she was guarded this time, not as open with her feelings as she'd been before. Bates sensed that she anticipated harshness from him. And perhaps he should maintain the illusion. But in that moment, he could not.

"I'll be all right," Bates tried to assure her.

Smiling, she agreed with more optimism than hope, "Of course you will. I'm sure you'll find something else."

"Something else... yes." It was not quite the same conversation they'd had before, and he struggled to remember what he'd said to give her some bit of comfort for this near stranger to whom she showed such simple kindness. He recalled the moment clearly in his mind, but the words were from another time.

"Something will turn up," he managed, knowing full well that if his Lordship did not change his mind, Bates would end up in a work house.

He realized as he spoke that he was absolutely mesmerized by the sight of her. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch her - a hand to her cheek, perhaps. Bates suspected that this Anna might allow it, even though she did not know him well. She trusted him. Despite his meanness to her, she'd brought a tray all on her own to the male servants' quarters, something which should have given her serious pause.

Bates did not give in to the temptation to touch her even as he thought back, his mind taking him to the attack she'd suffered, the one she was destined to suffer at the hands of the vile Mr. Green. If nothing else, that was a fate he had to change. Anna must live, he had already determined, and if was to change the future in that respect, he could improve her life with other alterations. That one aspect of her life had to be remedied. Green would never come near her, not ever.

Anna kept speaking, asking him to write when he was fixed in a new place, showing no sign of the impact she had on him. Bates almost could not stand it. The emotion shining out of her eyes was a seedling of affection, one which had inexplicably germinated in his brief time already at Downton.

"Else I'll worry," she finished.

She should not concern herself with him. It would only bring her misery.

"I don't think that would be very appropriate," Bates made himself say, although the words came out stiffly. Her face fell slightly as though she'd been chastened. "But you don't have to worry about me," he told her.

"I can't help it," Anna acknowledged. "I worry about my friends."

Sighing for what he was about to say, Bates pointed out, "But we aren't friends. We barely know one another. And we aren't likely to now." With one final nod, he reached for the door. "Thank you for the food, Anna."

He closed it between them just in time to keep her from seeing his tears begin to flow anew.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone who has been leaving me reviews or feedback about this story. I know it is difficult to read sometimes (and believe me, difficult to write), but hopefully the journey will be worth it. As always, I love to know what you think.**

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><p>Lord Grantham's change of heart occurred differently, but it occurred all the same. As Bates set out for the village in the morning, he did so with a heavy heart. What was he to do? Go back to London, he supposed, to his mother's house. From there, his future was blank - more empty and meaningless than holding possibility. But he dismissed thoughts of himself. What of Anna, what of protecting her from Green?<p>

Ten years was a lot of time to wait. Anything could happen to him in ten years. He could change the future in so many ways, just by leaving Downton. And what was it all for, so he would not look foolish in front of the others? It was the same pride and desire to be normal that had seen him spend far too much money on that blasted limp corrector which left him with nothing but pain, scars, and a well deserved scolding from Mrs. Hughes. This time, his pride had cost him a great deal more.

But as he neared the village, Bates heard a car behind him. He paused and turned to look, knowing from the direction that it had to be a member of the Crawley family. Waiting at the side of the road to see who was passing, Bates noticed the automobile come to a stop just ahead of him. To his shock, Lord Grantham stepped out of the back, not waiting for the chauffer to open the door.

"My lord?" he said, confused.

"Don't go, Bates," the Earl entreated. This time, no one was around but the two of them to see the emotions playing across their faces. "I was wrong."

Attempting to summon a response, Bates was silenced as his Lordship went on, "Get into the car. Come back with me. We won't speak of it again."

He hesitated only for a moment before giving his employer a nod of relieved thanks. Bates did as he was bid and climbed into the front seat beside the driver. The car did a turn in the road and headed back towards Downton.

When they arrived, his Lordship went in through the front door, leaving Bates to walk around to the back, as was customary. But as he took steps across the gravel, he heard the Earl say to Carson, who was waiting in the open front door, "It wasn't right. It just wasn't right."

Bates ignored the irritated looks of Thomas and Miss O'Brien as he took his case back to his room upstairs, although he did notice Anna's small smile aimed in his direction. Clearly, his coldness to her the night before had done little to stain her opinion of him. He permitted her a small smile in return, and she lit up like a lamp at his acknowledgment.

Anna sat next to him at dinner and then again at breakfast the next morning. Their conversation was halting and awkward as he struggled with himself on what to do. In the end, he resorted to mutely staring at his plate more often than answering her queries and asides. She tried but could not hide her hurt expression at his cold shoulder. But rather than blame him for rudeness, she seemed to internalize his snubs, as though they were some reflection on her rather than his own brutishness. Gradually, Anna's attempts died away and she ate her meals in silence.

Bates wished he could speak to her freely. Longing for her was almost a physical, tangible thing, but fear held him back. The woman sitting next to him would suffer - had suffered - enormously because of him. He and Anna had experienced joy together, certainly, but he could not deny the fact that his involvement in her life had caused her undue hardship and pain. He'd failed to protect her, failed to keep that... animal from attacking her.

Not this time, he decided. If he accomplished nothing else in his life, he would keep Anna safe. It was his mission, his purpose in life. Forcing down feelings which threatened to override his nerve, Bates stood up from the table and excused himself, leaving his dinner untouched.

He had not been given this opportunity, this miraculous gift of re-doing these years to spend it with Anna once more. No, he was here to ensure her future, to protect her where he'd failed her before. She was his only reason for living, as dramatic as it sounded.

In a stray moment, he wondered if God truly did exist and if this wasn't his own personal version of purgatory.

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><p>Weeks had passed since that night she'd brought him the tray to his room. His treatment of her had remained just as strained and ill humored as he could muster, although he found it difficult to maintain as she never reciprocated. Anna always spoke to him kindly, her eyes full of something he could not name. She smiled at him even as he glowered, and Bates sensed that perhaps she realized it was all an act on his part.<p>

One afternoon when the rest of the servants were down in the village to see a traveling salesman set up at the pub, she discovered him alone at the table in the servants' hall polishing buttons on a coat. She found a seat beside him to clean some jewelry even though there was plenty of room elsewhere. Aside from an indifferent nod, he ignored her, focusing instead on his work.

"Mister Bates?" Her use of his name caught his attention as much as her frank expression. "May I ask you something?"

"I suppose." He tried to sound politely distant but the tone was difficult to feign.

She focused on her cleaning rather than meeting his gaze. "Have I done something to offend you?"

Her words froze him completely. She had never spoken such a question to him, not before.

"Why would you ask that?"

"You seemed so friendly when you first came here. But lately you've been distant, to me in particular. I was wondering if it was something I'd done."

Bates looked at her - really looked at her - and for a moment, he did not see the Anna Smith who'd fallen in love with him all those years ago, in his own memories. He saw the bright and beautiful young woman who was just on the verge of that precipice. She did not yet understand what her heart was feeling, but it was happening again. Somehow, unbelievably, she was falling in love with him all over again.

And he couldn't have that. Clearly, neither cold indifference nor occasional rudeness were enough to dissuade her.

"Perhaps I just don't like you," he said stiffly, hating himself for it even as he watched her reaction to the unkind words. Her face fell and changed to shock at his bluntness.

"I see." Looking away from him, Anna took a moment to compose herself before saying, "Well, Mister Bates-"

Before she could say more, one of the bells on the wall rang. Both of them turned to look, knowing even as they did that it was the front door bell.

"Mister Carson is gone and we're without both footmen," Bates noted in irritation, but as he spoke, he remembered back through the years to a similar circumstance.

"You'll have to go up," she responded with a shake of the head. "Mister Carson wouldn't want a maid answering the front door."

The confrontation with Mr. Grigg had sneaked up on him, he realized, as he'd missed all the signs. Anna had not confided in him about seeing the butler stealing food, nor had he spotted Mr. Carson acting strangely in the village. But obviously Bates had not so altered time as to change this day, Bates realized as he opened the front door to find Mr. Grigg standing there, stubbornly demanding to see his Lordship.

"Please wait here," he told the man, making sure to close the door securely behind him.

But as Bates sent Anna to fetch Mr. Carson, she hurried dutifully out the front door. And rather than letting it swing shut behind her, Mr. Grigg pushed it open and wandered into the house. Anna sent a beleaguered look in the valet's direction, but he afforded her a reassuring nod to go about her assigned errand to find Mr. Carson. Perhaps it was better to let matters play out how they would.

To Bates' surprise, the scene in the library went exactly as he remembered with hardly a deviation of word or action. Lord Grantham dealt with Mr. Griggs as effortlessly as Bates anticipated, and he had to admire the man. He always was a good leader and a fair employer, the sort of person to inspire great loyalty and sacrifice in those who served him.

Anna was silent as they descended the stairs back down to the servants' hall. While she did not exchange words with him, she automatically fell into step beside Bates, taking the stairs one at a time as he always did even though he'd seen her move much more quickly. They did not discuss Mr. Carson's history on stage as they might have done in a past life, with low tones and suppressed laughs. Instead, they moved in silence but with a unspoken camaraderie of shared experience. At the top of the landing, Bates turned to finish the descent down to the servants' hall.

"Mister Bates..."

He paused. "Yes?"

Anna hesitated before speaking, and he cocked his head at her in curiosity.

"The thing is," Anna went on, keeping her voice down so it would not travel for the others to hear, "I don't think you really do dislike me."

Bates raised an eyebrow at this.

She continued before he could argue. "You may not realize it, but I know you look at me when you think I can't see you. You're always looking, Mister Bates, and I don't know why you would do that if you do not like me as you said."

"Maybe I'm thinking of ways to get rid of you," he suggested blindly, thinking of Thomas and Miss O'Brien.

She snorted at the ridiculous suggestion. "It isn't in your character to attempt such a thing," she pointed out.

"You know nothing about my character."

He intended the barb to be sharp and cutting, but it came out more mournful than he anticipated.

"I know you're hiding something. I don't know what it is, but you don't want others to know, me in particular." She paused, and for a moment, he could see the openness in her face. "But if Mister Carson's episode upstairs has taught me anything, it is that we all have things about us we'd rather keep hidden. But you should know that I would never betray you, Mister Bates, if you did share with me. I'm not like the others. I wouldn't-"

The kindness in her voice struck him like a blow, her gentleness a knife between his ribs as the longing in him spilled out like fresh blood.

"You're wrong," he managed to interrupt her. "I have nothing to hide."

"Really? Then why don't you like me?" Anna asked.

He refused to answer her, unable to think of something plausible even as he was unwilling to lie and make up some imaginary failing. She was perfect and he would not chip away at her self confidence by inventing something for her to fret about herself later on. Better that she consider him a grumpy old man than she might have some fault in her exquisite character.

"I don't like anyone."

She shook her head. "You're lying. You are kind to Gwen; she's told me. I've seen you with William and Daisy and the hall boys. You're sharp with Thomas and Ms. O'Brien, but I'm the only one you really try to avoid. And you don't like being short with me, I can tell."

Anna truly had been studying him. Blinking against the tears which began to gather in his eyes and swallowing back the tightness in his throat, Bates took several deep breaths before responding with a measure of truth.

"You remind me of someone I once knew."

Her reaction betrayed surprise. She obviously had not expected this confession.

He added softly, "Someone I cared about very much."

Using the past tense felt as wrong as such an inadequate word like 'care.' He should have said love, adore, worship. But he needed to keep his feelings under control.

"Someone you lost?"

Anna knew. Bates realized it as he finally met her eyes. In them he could see the faintest glimmer of tears. He took a ragged breath and nodded a confirmation even as he realized her tears were for him, for the pain she saw in him. Her empathy was too much to endure, especially in that moment when all he could see was her face. The memories threatened to overwhelm him as he thought of her happy expression at their wedding, or when she waited for his release outside the prison in York, or when she told him she was expecting-

He tore his eyes away from her, the movement so abrupt that he nearly lost his balance on the stairs. Without thought, Anna reached to steady him. Her hand caught his arm and the sudden contact felt like a bolt of electricity. He stood, completely stunned as she spoke.

"I can't imagine what it's like, to lose someone you obviously cared for so much. And I'm sorry that I remind you of her. But I do hope we can be friends."

The sadness in her eyes colored him a thousand shades of misery. He hated hurting her in this horribly indignant fashion. But if he let her close again, it would only end in her anguish and death.

Sighing in resignation, he answered, "I don't see how that's possible."

Her lip trembled as she stated, "I know you aren't a cruel man, deep down, Mister Bates. You don't enjoy hurting people."

"You don't know me at all," he said, although the lie sounded flat to his own ears. She understood him so well already, even though he'd pushed her away at every turn.

"Maybe not. But I know you aren't the person you're pretending to be."

And with that, she left him to his own thoughts.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You'll have to forgive me if I fudge the timeline a bit over the next few chapters. Of course, not everything will happen quite as it did before, and some choices are deliberate. As well, I appreciate everyone's feedback and reviews. I've often said that the DA fandom has some of the best fanfic reviewers, and you all prove it with every story and every chapter I post.**

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><p>Bates tried not to focus too much on the disconnect between his relationship with Anna now and the one they'd enjoyed before. It could not be the same, no matter how kindly she treated him or how much he wished he could return her friendship. But the full import of what he was doing to her did not hit him until he overheard her gossiping in the stairwell with Gwen, the two women on an upper landing above him. Their voices reached down to him as they walked up and away, unaware of his presence.<p>

"Mister Bates seems nice enough."

"He doesn't care for me," Anna responded distantly, her tone regretful.

"Maybe he likes you more than he can admit," Gwen suggested.

Bates sensed rather than heard the shake of Anna's head, the determined way she set her jaw as she answered, "I doubt that. There was someone he cared about, someone in his past, and apparently I remind him of her. I don't know what happened, but clearly just being near me pains him greatly."

"Who was she?" Gwen asked, clearly curious.

"He didn't say. And I haven't the right to ask."

"I'd ask, if I were you," the other housemaid ventured before adding, "And maybe he just needs time to come around."

"Maybe," she agreed. With a sigh, she said, "He doesn't deserve to live in such misery."

Whatever they said after that was lost to him as they reached their destination and left the stairwell. Bates remained where he stood, transfixed for a moment.

Her selflessness amazed him. Even as Anna believed he disliked her for completely irrational reasons, she made excuses for him and absolved him of blame. He felt guilty in being so dishonest with her. But even if he told her the truth, she would never believe him.

Anna had not avoided him after their conversation following the revelation of Mr. Carson's days on the stage. But she did not approach him often, either. Rather, she tended to fade into the shadows whenever he was around. Her tone when she did speak in his presence varied between uncertainty and dissolution, as though she had no notion of how she should act around him.

Bates understood her struggle. All he wanted was to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss the spectra of youth that was his wife standing before him, whole and healthy and very much alive. But he did not. He _could _not. His love was the kiss of death, a slow and painful one which would ultimately lead her to agony and destruction.

So he buried his feelings and in so doing protected her from the sadness he felt so keenly. Better that he should suffer than to put her at risk.

Chastened by his alteration of the past to suit himself, Bates knew when he saw the advertisement that he had to go through with buying the blasted contraption again. Even though he knew it was useless and unnecessarily painful, it had colored his interactions with Anna and Mrs. Hughes. What might he inadvertently change if the housekeeper did not discover that secret of his, if the others did not glimpse his periodic pain and cultivate a measure of pity?

He had nearly undone everything by avoiding embarrassment before, and he feared what he might change if he did not go through with it. so Bates faithfully went through the motions of traveling to Leeds and procuring the device, but this time around, he harbored no hope that it would be of any use besides torturing his leg further. If anything, he embraced that truth, twisting the screws tightly until the physical pain of his body matched what he felt inside.

To a certain extent, wearing the limp corrector was as much penance for avoiding the fall in front of the Duke as it was an adherence to history. But he quickly found that without the firm grip of hope, that it was nearly impossible to endure the pain so willingly. And keeping Anna from seeing his pain was likewise unavoidable. She noticed immediately.

"Are you all right, Mister Bates?"

The question came just after breakfast as he stood up from the table, startling him given their lack of interaction lately.

"Yes, thank you," he responded, although his face likely betrayed him as he attempted another step. He got halfway down the hallway before she caught up to him, stepping in his way so he was forced to halt his retreat. Someone passed by, and Anna dipped her head, waiting. But when they were alone again, or what passed for alone in the well traveled corridor outside the servants' hall, she doggedly turned her attention to him again.

"Please tell me what is the matter."

"It is nothing." He was insistent and moved past her, careful to disguise his expression to hide the pain.

She did not follow or pester him, but he learned later that she did the next best thing: she told on him to Mrs. Hughes.

Of course, Anna was not the only one to notice his extreme discomfort. Lord Grantham watched him with a keen eye as he assisted the man with dressing before his own breakfast.

"You seem out of sorts today, Bates."

He resisted the urge to sigh in frustration at the Earl's observation.

"Just a bit stiff today, milord," he explained.

His employer let it go then, but later that evening he was careful to scrutinize the valet as he changed for dinner. The day had been extremely trying as the metal bands of the limp corrector bit into his flesh. Bates considered removing the offending device, if for no other reason than to wrap his leg so the blood would not stain his trousers. But he feared that if he took it off, he would never be able to convince himself to put it back on again. Besides, there was no where in the house with privacy but his room, and an unnecessary walk up to the sleeping quarters was too daunting to face in his current condition.

"Bates, I really wish you would tell me what is wrong. I've never seen you in such pain. Is it your leg? Has your injury gotten worse?"

Shaking his head, he took a breath before explaining, "No, I just... I'm attempting a corrective action, milord, something I hope will help in the long run but is extremely uncomfortable at the moment. I won't allow it to impact my work."

He could tell the Earl wished to question him further, but his natural restraint kept him from prying. Lord Grantham had already asked too much, blurring that fine line between master and servant, even for a man he considered a friend. But he frowned in disapproval before heading downstairs for dinner.

Conscious that he would not be able to hide his pain from Anna, Bates skipped his own supper and instead used the time to catch up on work he'd been slow to complete throughout the day. To his surprise, Mrs. Hughes located him in his Lordship's dressing room as he prepared his employer's night clothes for bed. After nearly a full work day wearing the limp corrector, he found that instead of it getting easier, it had grown steadily worse. Perhaps he had turned the screws too tight too quickly, or maybe he had simply been lucky before. But the agony astonished him.

"Mister Bates," she said, tapping on the open door, and he looked up to see the housekeeper witnessing his momentary acknowledgment of the pain.

Straightening, he looked at her with concern. It was too soon for her to find out, he knew. He should suffer through the limp corrector for several more days before she finally confronted him. But the expression in her eyes was the same as he remembered, and Bates realized that he would not last that long even if he tried.

"I insist you tell me what is the matter," Mrs. Hughes told him pointedly. "From Anna's description, you're likely to pass out on the floor at any moment. And I can see for myself that you look ill."

"It is nothing..."

She shut the door, blocking him in the room. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what is going on."

He thought about joking, seeming to remember some line about his mother's Irish complexion. But his starched collar felt tight at his throat, and he forced himself to focus on breathing out slowly through the pain. Perhaps it was better to get this over with now, Bates determined, before he inadvertently changed things again.

"I hope you have a strong stomach..."

Her expression of horror as he pulled up the leg of his trousers was just as he remembered, and he chastised himself for inflicting that moment on the housekeeper once more. He knew she was made of stern stuff, but it still felt like an imposition on her sensitive side.

With empathy tinged with anger at his foolishness, Mrs. Hughes insisted that he strip off the device. She went so far as to walk with him up to his room so he could do so in his own room, but she was waiting for him in the hallway as he emerged. As he did so he nearly missed the choice words she muttered under her breath in thick Scottish brogue about men and stubbornness.

"Whatever were you thinking?" she chose to say clearly for his hearing.

"I had hoped to walk normally," he answered her, mindful that it was the truth, or had been once upon a time.

But why had he chosen to go through this again? Was it really to maintain the timeline, so that he could continue to know the future? Or was he punishing himself?

"You are to destroy this piece of... equipment," the housekeeper scolded him, "and I will hear no argument on the matter."

Dutifully, he nodded.

"I should make you see the doctor," she muttered, but they both knew Bates would never go. Instead, he follower her back down to her sitting room and allowed her to clean and dress the wounds on his leg, applying bandages to stop the bleeding and a salve to ward against infection. And once that was done, she confiscated the limp corrector, which he had wrapped in a blanket.

The next morning, his leg felt much better, although his skin stung as the wool of his trousers brushed against the bandages covering the wounds left by the metal bands. But the absence of the striking pain was a relief, and it showed in his expression. Anna watched him from across the table, but she only smiled at him kindly and made no comment.

After breakfast, the housekeeper informed him in quiet tones that he was to meet her at a specific area of the grounds. He already knew her purpose.

Laying the thing to rest in an out-of-the-way pond was as cathartic as he remembered. But more than that, being in Mrs. Hughes' company as she fussed over him made him feel lighter and more steady. One of the things he missed the most about his own time was the relationships he'd formed with these people. Seemingly overnight, each connection had been completely severed, and he was being forced to build them anew. The housekeeper was a welcome figure and while he had never quite regarded her as projecting maternal affection, she always had an air of feminine sensibility he had come to appreciate.

"Should we say a few words?" Mrs. Hughes asked him.

"Good riddance?"

She frowned at his dismissive suggestion, and prompted him, "And your promise?"

Bates smiled at her sardonically. This part he did remember, although it was different for him now. His mistake was not the same as it had been before. In the past, he'd used the limp corrector in a vain attempt to cure himself. Not this time. No, he likely should have ignored the entire episode rather than attempt to re-create it. But the need to punish himself was too great, and it was something Bates knew he would need to resist going forward.

"I promise not to try and change things which cannot be changed." _And to change the things which perhaps should be changed._ "And I promise to stop being so hard on myself, and to accept my limitations in this life without minding them."

It would be a difficult promise to keep, he knew, but he needed to stick to it if he was to remain sane. Mrs. Hughes did not know the extra meaning behind his words, and she did not need to know. She said something about everyone having scars, and that he was no different than anyone else in that respect. Nodding in acceptance of her words, Bates did not argue. But he could not agree. The worst of his scars were ones she would never see, the ones deep inside which he suspected would never quite heal.

And what's more, he was not certain he wanted them to heal.

"Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Hughes," he told her instead, before hurling the metal contraption into the pond.

At least the splash was was as satisfying as he remembered.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying this story despite the occasional bit of angst. ;-) Thanks to those who have left reviews and feedback. I appreciate hearing what you think.**

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><p>"I take it from your expression that whatever 'corrective action' you were taking has either been discontinued or resolved in a satisfactory manner?"<p>

Obviously, Lord Grantham had noticed the change in his disposition since he'd thrown out the limp corrector. The attention surprised him as Bates had never realized how clear his distress had been to others, at the time believing himself more or less invisible.

The Earl looked at his valet pointedly, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Somehow not having to fully face the man as they spoke made his response easier to muster.

"It has, milord," Bates stated.

"Are you going to tell me what it was all about?"

Wild horses could not have drug the truth from his lips at that moment. It was bad enough having suffered through it once, but torturing himself with the device twice for no real purpose? Bates felt foolish and fool hearty. He ought to be better at this, using his second chance for the better and not to stew in his own lingering guilt.

Mildly, he said, "I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

He picked up a brush and began to sweep imaginary lint from the Earl's shoulders, purposely breaking their eye contact. Lord Grantham said nothing more on the matter.

"When are the guests to arrive?" Bates asked, his voice sounding absent but his attention entirely engaged on his Lordship's answer.

"The day after tomorrow. I'm rather looking forward to it."

The valet nodded slightly, his mind already working on the problem at hand. Evelyn Napier would bring Kemal Pamuk, the Turkish ambassador, to Downton in only two days. And in doing so, he would set in motion a series of events which no one could possibly anticipate.

No one except Bates.

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><p>"You seem to be feeling better."<p>

Her words startled him as though she were a ghost which appeared ahead of him on the stairs as he made the slow trek up to the attic to retrieve some clothes for Lord Grantham in anticipation of the house party. Anna was on her way back down from a similar errand. He idly wondered why they always seemed to meet like this in the stairwell, with no one else around. It was a peculiarity of this new life.

"I am. Much better, thank you."

She paused at his response with a deliberate glance at his cane. His knee was still hurting him after the use of the limp corrector. The pain would get better over time, he knew, but for now it still caused him problems, and Anna could see it despite his attempt to cover his discomfort with clenched teeth and a tight smile.

"You should have told me you were coming up here," she scolded him good-naturedly. "I could have gotten what you needed and saved you a trip."

He shook his head. "I couldn't ask that of you."

"Why not?" she queried. With a deliberate air of casual matter-of-factness, she said, "Just because you don't like me doesn't mean I don't like you."

Her words stung, not because they carried just a hint of recrimination, but because he could see in her that it was true. Anna did like him. Having cast aside his ill treatment of her, she'd determined herself to be his friend no matter whether he reciprocated or not.

"I can do my own work," Bates forced himself to say.

He should go, he knew, before their conversation went further than he would like. But he could not pass her on the stairs, not without risking brushing up against her. Such a touch, even a casual one, might do him in completely. Instead, he waited for her to move.

But Anna refused.

Instead, she stood in his way. Dropping her voice, she asked more gently, "The woman I remind you of, what happened to her?"

The question abruptly flung him into the past, and he could see the apology for that in her eyes. His head spun as he thought about how he could explain himself, how he could be truthful without sounding like a madman. He could not tell her about what he knew would happen, about what _had_ happened. But she deserved an explanation.

Even if he could find a way to say it, Bates almost could not speak the words aloud. Anna looked at him with such an expression of tenderness that he lost himself in her eyes. Meanwhile, she waited calmly, patiently, with no expectation but to find a way to ease his burden.

Finally, after an impossibly long silence, he found his voice. "She... died."

Anna's face crumpled under this pronouncement, and he could see her immediate regret in having asked about his past at all. Putting that sort of guilt on her was unfathomable to him, not in light of the truth.

"Mister Bates, I'm so sorry-" she began, but he quickly interrupted her.

"You weren't to know. But you have every right to ask. The woman I told you about before, she died because of me."

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his statement as though she did not quite believe his confession.

"Surely that isn't true," she argued. A question hovered on her breath, and he recognized that she could not bring herself to ask. And as much as she deserved to know, he could not tell her, not everything. The circumstances still left him raw with grief, and speaking them aloud was simply not possible.

"It is," Bates managed to say succinctly. "But for me, she would have had a much longer - and happier - life."

"But I cannot imagine that whatever happened was your fault-"

Shaking his head, he declared strongly, "It was. It was all my fault."

Unable to stand and listen to this woman who looked just like his wife - who _was _his wife, or a younger version of her - defend him to himself, he turned to walk back down the stairs, his errand to the attics abandoned. But Bates could not make that first step, not with the feel of her eyes staring at his back.

He was here to keep an eye on her, to _protect_ her. He had not returned to Downton to hurt her all over again, to interrupt her life and destroy it once more. His sole purpose in allowing himself to stay was to keep her safe. The simple truth remained that he would bring Anna untold pain if he became involved with her, if he let her fall in love with him. And yet, they were already traveling down the same path they'd gone before.

Part of him knew he could not help himself. Seeing his mother after she had been dead for so many years was one thing, but to see Anna, to come to know her as a friend and colleague all over again as he had in the beginning...

He was turned away from her, but Bates could hear the emotions in Anna's voice as she so obviously fought to restrain her own emotions. "I'm so sorry, Mister Bates. How thoughtless of me to bring up your memories like this."

The sudden sadness he heard in her tone burned him like fire and made it difficult to breath. She should never suffer for his shortcomings, especially not in this. He shook his head, the small movement making him suddenly dizzy.

Looking back at her, he said, "You aren't thoughtless, Anna. Never that. You are extremely kind to me, even when I've given you no reason to be. But I am undeserving of your consideration."

"That isn't true."

"It is."

"Haven't I the right to decide that?" Anna demanded.

Unable to argue, he simply stood still and quiet for a moment. She was the one to break through the silent barrier he had erected around himself.

"I recognize that I may not be the easiest person for you to be near. But I do hope we can be friends, Mister Bates."

Anna did not wait for an answer from him, but rather she edged past him to go downstairs. He stiffened as as she squeezed by his larger form on the crowded stair, forcing himself not to let out a gasp at the contact between them. Anna paused, obviously noticing his reaction. She turned to look up at him and their eyes met in a moment of pure understanding, as though everything else had melted away and she was once again the woman he'd known before.

Then that moment passed and she left him to make her way back down the stairs.

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><p>As the next two days went by, the tension between Bates and Anna slowly eased. He permitted himself to laugh at the same jokes she found funny when they were both in the servants' hall, and gradually, he began entering the same conversations. He justified the laxness with a reminder that while it was a large house, their numbers were too small to keep so apart from her forever. They were not allies as they once had been, he and Anna, nor were they truly friends. But he had trouble maintaining the farce that he disliked her and so allowed himself to abandon it.<p>

When Gwen's secret type writer was found and published to the entire downstairs, he stood behind the women as Anna defended her friend to Mr. Carson. "She wants to keep it private, not secret. There's a difference."

He could have laughed at the absurdity of their disapproval of someone wanting to give up a life in service to be a secretary. None of them yet knew how things would change after the war, how this way of life would be irrevocably altered. As more and more great houses were lost to creditors and taxes and the cost of their owners' tastes, more and more servants would be driven into finding other work. Marveling at Gwen for being ahead of the game, he quietly murmured agreement with Anna.

Bates also had to admit, the discussion of keeping things private rather than secret hit him close to home. His own secrets could never be shared, not with anyone, and he regretted that it was a something he would likely take to his grave. As a private man, he hated admitting it, but one of the parts he missed the most about his old life was having someone to actually talk to about things.

Gwen defended herself admirably, he thought, even in the face of Mr. Carson's censure and Mrs. Hughes' displeasure.

As she moved to gather up her typewriter and Anna turned around to go about her duties, the head housemaid started at the sight of him behind her. "Excuse me," Bates said, stepping out of her way.

Smirking at him, Anna walked by slowly, refusing to take a step to the side which would have kept them firmly apart. Her movement caused a bit of her skirt to brush against his trousers, though she showed no apology for the contact. It was a small thing, but Bates understood it even better than Anna likely did herself - she was communicating a thanks without words, for standing behind her and Gwen against the housekeeper and butler. And even beyond that, there was another intention behind her casual movement.

Anna was flirting with him.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: As always, huge thanks to my reviewers. Ya'll are truly the best, and I love hearing what you think of each chapter.**

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><p>Time travel was a thing of fiction, something that happened in Jules Verne or H.G. Wells novels. But just like giant sea monsters and aliens from distant planets, such ideas belonged in books, not in the real world. But despite its impossibility, his reality was very much like a science fiction novel. Bates had given little thought to anything besides the mission he had assigned himself in this new life, this second chance, and it had nothing to do with seeking out Anna again. All that mattered was keeping her safe. But he still thought about the fact that he was in possession of knowledge regarding future events.<p>

The changes he'd wrought by avoiding the fall in front of the Duke had been minor, and gradually events had returned to normal. But by the time the date of the house party arrived, he began to wonder how much he should interfere in other happenings. Bates knew what was to occur with the Turkish ambassador Lord Napier would bring with him to Downton. While Anna had never given him a full account, he knew the man would end up in Lady Mary's bed and die there, inciting a series of events which would harm not only the Earl's daughter but potentially Anna as well.

Bates knew that he could not change everything he might wish to alter. He could not avert the war which was coming. And if he did try to stop it, he would be labeled a madman and shut up in an institution. Even working on a smaller scale, he very likely could not save William's life or prevent Matthew from being injured. His helplessness to stop the death and destruction of so many young men left him anxious and guilty, as though he were colluding with the enemy by keeping silent. But what could he do? Even now, events were in play which would bring about the largest war of his lifetime. Even worse, he was denied the ability to serve his country.

But he could make certain that the scandal which allowed Vera to take him from Downton, to take him away from Anna's side, would not be repeated.

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><p>Lord Grantham joked about German spies at Downton, and Bates smiled at the notion even though his heart was not in it. He was preoccupied with how to prevent Pamuk from dying in Lady Mary's bed. Should he make sure the man did not reach the bedroom? But if he were caught on the gallery in the dead of night, he'd surely be sacked. And if Pamuk lived, how much would that change the future? Of course, he was assuming that the Turk would live if he avoided Mary's bedroom, which was not guaranteed. Having died of a heart attack, he might die in his own bed or live long enough to return to London.<p>

What if he died in London, and controversy erupted over its suspicious nature? What if the war started early, and in doing so, the entire course of history was changed-

"Bates?" Lord Grantham asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

"I am, milord," he answered automatically, turning his attention to his work.

"If there's something troubling you..."

Bates paused for a moment, but then decided that consulting with his employer might actually help. "I was thinking of something the other day, and it has been vexing me for a while."

Raising an eyebrow, the Earl told him, "Go on."

"If you could fix something... go back in time and change the past, would you?"

The Earl looked amused by the question but gave it due consideration. "I think there are chapters we would all prefer to re-write, especially the painful ones," he ventured.

Waiting for him to say that the past was left to the past, that such things could not be changed, Bates had already decided on the course of action that he would take. But Lord Grantham surprised him.

"There are certainly things I would change," he finished with a sad sigh. "And perhaps it is for the better that I cannot go back in time."

Bates nodded, and their conversation shifted to a lighter topic as he finished brushing off his employer's coat.

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><p>Later that evening, the Turk's arrival was the subject of much conversation below stairs. Bates made sure he took a seat next to Anna at dinner. The occurrence was not as fare as it used to be, but it certainly drew her attention. Anna held herself with a sort of stillness, making no extra effort to converse with him. He surprised her greatly when he commented quietly, "Is the Turkish gentleman as good looking as everyone says?"<p>

Anna blinked at him for a moment before smiling, either pleased at his attention or embarrassed, he could not tell. Bates knew from a private admission from his wife that she'd found the Turkish ambassador attractive the first time she'd seen him, although moving his dead body about the house had certainly put a damper on that feeling.

"He's handsome enough," Anna allowed, coloring slightly.

For a split second, he found a feeling of jealousy coursing through him. Pushing it away, Bates noted, "I heard he rode a great deal with Lady Mary today."

He could not ignore the pleased expression she wore and it only took him a second to realize it was because they were talking so openly. Gossiping in the servants' hall was common enough, but he rarely partook. She, on the other hand, had always enjoyed hearing reports from the footmen after dinner, and as a woman, she tended to demonstrate keen insight into all manner of situations.

Anna responded, "She seems to like him well enough."

"Of course, nothing can come of it," he mused aloud.

Anna's forehead wrinkled in consternation. "Why do you say that?"

He had not considered it much before after Pamuk's death, but there were real impediments to such a match if the Turk had not died. Bates knew the Crawleys would never approve and he rather doubted that Mary would settle for someone that was not her social equal if she did not truly love him.

Aloud, Bates ventured, "He is a foreigner. Their cultures are too different, and I doubt either of their families would approve of such a match."

"But it isn't impossible, not if both parties are willing to sacrifice to be together," Anna said quietly, not looking at him. "It would be worth it, if they fell in love."

In an instant, he realized that she was no longer talking about Lady Mary. She spoke of her feelings in code and he did not realize it until he'd walked into the landmine.

"He'd bring her to ruin," Bates said, referring to himself in the guise of Mr. Pamuk and Lady Mary, silently adding, and death.

"What would that matter if they truly loved each other?"

She spoke so solemnly, and he knew she was betraying her own growing feelings for him. Somehow, despite treating her so poorly since he'd come to Downton, she'd developed such a strong attachment to him anyway. He hated to encourage her feelings, but he needed her to trust him on this one night.

"Anna," he began. "I know I haven't been very kind to you since my arrival. But I do regard you very highly. I hope that you know that you can call on me, if there is anything I can ever do for you."

Confused by his sudden turn in the conversation, she said, "Thank you, Mister Bates."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I wish everyone was as understanding as you. I'm not as unfit as they all deem me. I know I can't serve at table, not for the carrying, but for the look of it. But I could help with the luggage, if they would give me a chance."

"But... wouldn't you have trouble lifting?" Anna asked.

Shaking his head, Bates informed her, "I'm not weak. I have a bad leg and trouble balancing at times. But I can lift with my other arm. If I take it slow, I think I could assist somewhat."

He let the conversation die out there as their dinner finished and Anna was called up to attend Lady Mary. But in doing so, he hoped that he'd gotten his message across. While Bates had no desire to help carry the luggage, he wanted Anna to know that she could ask him for help. Years ago, or years later, as he was beginning to think of his own time, his wife had told him that Lady Mary had suggested asking him for help in moving Mr. Pamuk's body. She'd turned down the suggestion on the belief that he could not carry. Bates knew it was a decision she always regretted because if they'd involved him instead of Lady Grantham, perhaps the whole thing would have stayed secret.

It was a small chance, but if it proved to make Anna's life easier in the long run, he would do anything necessary.

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><p>As he'd hoped, there was a quiet and gentle knock on his door in the small hours of the morning. Bates hadn't been to sleep yet, although he'd removed his coat and was left in his shirt and waistcoat. He answered the knock immediately.<p>

Outside stood Lady Mary. Anna stood at the end of the corridor by the open door to the women's side. "We need your help," the dark-haired woman whispered, the panic alive in her eyes enough to startle him.

He needed no other convincing, nor would he have had he did not already know what this was about. Bates followed the women quickly, ignoring the pain in his knee as he hurried behind them, barely letting his cane make a sound as it touched the ground.

The trip to the family's rooms took little time. Once they were there and Bates observed the state of Pamuk's body, he looked at the two women with a questioning gaze.

Mary could not meet his eyes, but Anna knew what needed to be done even before he spoke the statement aloud. "We should take him back to his own bed," she declared.

Nodding, Bates stated, "I agree. He can't be found here, mi'lady."

The other woman nodded in embarrassment and misery, her eyes closed as she struggled to ward off the tears.

Between the three of them, they wrestled Pamuk's body out of his bed. The man's skin had gone cold and began to pale, but his limbs had not yet stiffened. The way to the bachelor's corridor was far, and even Lady Mary seemed to wonder if it could be done at all. But Bates was determined to have the errand finished and both women in their beds before the first servants stirred.

He had them wrap the man up in his sheet. Twisting the fabric around the corpse's feet, Bates took hold of the makeshift handle and steered them through the house with Anna and Lady Mary on either side of the diplomat's torso. They had no conversation. No recriminations were offered when one lost their grip and the young man's body plummeted to the ground in undignified heap. And after an exhaustive period of trudging through the house with their burden, they were finally able to deposit the man into his own bed.

Anna stripped the sheet off the Turkish gentleman and returned it to Lady Mary as Bates pulled back the covers to hide the man's nakedness. Mary accepted the bundle, her eyes wide as they swept over to Bates. She seemed to suddenly realize the power the valet held over her now. He knew her darkest secret, he and Anna both, though he was a stranger to her.

"I don't know what to say," she began, breathless. "Bates, I can never repay you-"

Shaking his head, he waved off her thanks. "Think nothing of it, milady. I was only glad I could help."

She would have said more, but Anna interrupted, "We should get to bed, mi'lady. Others will be up soon and it won't do to be seen out of our beds."

"You're right." The noblewoman sighed and took one last look at the Turkish diplomat. A goodbye.

Bates had never really felt anything regarding the situation with the dead man in Lady Mary's bed beyond the scandal of it harming he and Anna. But now that he saw her and the grief written in her features, he understood Anna's desperation in keeping her safe from ridicule. Lady Mary was but a girl with her first real infatuation cruelly torn from her. It was the same expression he saw on Anna's face when he was unnecessarily cruel to her.

Once they parted from Lady Mary, Bates walked with Anna back upstairs to the servants' rooms. They said nothing to each other, but several times he noticed her studying him as they walked together.

"You should hurry along," he suggested. "I will catch up."

"And have others wonder about you walking the house at night by yourself?" Anna responded saucily. "At least if I'm with you, their speculation would be something other than you creeping about and thieving under the cover of darkness."

He knew what assumptions would be made if they were caught together, and her acknowledgment of it caused him to have trouble drawing breath. Had she just suggested that if caught, he should use stepping out with her as an alibi? Never mind her reputation - her job would be forfeit. As much as Mrs. Hughes liked the head housemaid, she'd be out on the street within hours.

"Don't ever suggest such a thing again," he said finally, his anger barely contained. Anna could not sacrifice her position to protect him - not for this and not for anything.

Anna frowned at him, obviously hurt by his tone. Thankfully, they'd reached the kitchens unwitnessed and could part to return to their beds.

"Don't worry, Mister Bates," she declared boldly, both a challenge to him and an angry promise. "I won't make such a mistake again."

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><p>TBC<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Please review and let me know what you think.**

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><p>After that night, Anna regarded him with a curious air of displeasure. When she was forced to be in his company, she deliberately looked away from him, making no conversation. But beneath her anger at him, Bates could read her hurt feelings at his rejection. She'd only made the suggestion with an intent to shield him from gossip and censure if he was seen out with her that night. What Anna did not know, what she could not know, was that she ranked more highly in his estimation than anything relating to himself.<p>

While he found enjoyment in his old life at Downton, Bates still lived each day only for her. The thought of using her in such a way sickened him.

He walked behind Anna and Gwen on their half day on the way into the village, the two women keeping a steady pace ahead of him even though the red-haired maid glanced back at him in sympathy periodically.

"Shouldn't we wait for Mister Bates?" he heard her ask.

Anna simply shook her head. "I'm sure he'd rather walk on his own."

Despite her words, she did not let the two of them completely outstrip him. He wondered if perhaps she intended for him to hear snippets of their conversation.

"I feel sorry for him," Gwen said quietly to her companion, not quite keeping her voice low enough to elude his ears.

"Well, I don't. If he wants people to be nice to him, he should show them a bit more consideration."

Bates heard the younger maid murmur something about him always being kind to her, but Anna ignored the entreaty and sped up her pace. He did not catch up to them until he reached the village and only then it was because Anna was stopped in conversation with Lady Mary. Gwen stood a ways off reading the sign for the fair coming to town.

"Bates," Lady Mary addressed him, and he reluctantly joined the two women's conversation.

Bobbing his head, he acknowledged her, "My lady."

"I was just telling Anna and wanted to say it to you as well. I can never repay you for your help the other evening."

"Think nothing of it," he assured her.

"I won't insult you by asking for your silence on the matter," she went on, "but Bates, I wanted you to know that if there is ever a question again about you keeping your position, you will have my full support with his Lordship."

"That isn't necessary-"

"I insist," Lady Mary interrupted him forcefully. Turning to Anna, she said, "I'll see you back at the house."

"Of course, milady."

The two of them stood still and watched her leave, neither saying a word for a long time. Gwen seemed content to re-read the sign for the fair, not bothering to rejoin them right away. Finally, Anna asked him quietly, "Is that why you did it? To solidify your position at the house?"

He blinked in surprise at her question, her voice betraying more than a little suspicion.

"I did it because Lady Mary asked it of me. And because you both needed my help," he answered.

Anna gave a tight nod before going further. She kept her tone low as she inquired, "And you don't look down upon her for what she did, having a man in her bed who was not her husband?"

It had never occurred to Bates to look down on the woman for what happened that night in her bedroom - not before, and certainly not now. Lady Mary had always been a friend to Anna, particularly in the darkest of times, and while Bates himself had little relationship with the woman, he appreciated the favor she showed to his wife.

He closed his eyes as he mentally amended himself. Not his wife. She was no longer his wife, nor would she ever be again. She was simply Anna.

"I have no right to pass judgment on her or anyone else. But what she did was risky, not only to herself but her entire family. And to you in asking you for help."

The words barely wavered as they left his lips. There was truth in every syllable, but in particular, the only fault Bates could find in other woman's conduct was in her potentially compromising Anna's reputation. He still heard Vera's words in his ear. _"It isn't criminal offense, is it? Just a social one..."_

"And since when do you care about me?" she demanded, her voice sharp and irritated.

He deserved her anger. Not only did he deserve it, but she deserved to feel it. He'd played with her, sometimes showing kindness and other times withdrawing it in a cruel mockery of friendship. Anna was too kind of a person to simply cast him off, not when she truly believed he had some value as a person. But at the same time, he could not risk growing too close to her.

Already he could feel the pull of attraction like a siren's song, and Bates wondered if he was strong enough to resist it for so many years. He should leave now, he knew, and remove himself from her life completely. But if he left, no one would be at Downton to protect her when Mr. Green arrived serving as Lord Gillingham's valet. He could not stand for her to endure what that monster did once again, not when he knew when it would happen and how he could stop it.

"Anna..." he began with a sigh, "I do care about you, as a friend. But there can never be anything more than that between us."

She did not mistake his meaning. Quiet for several seconds, she asked finally, "Because of her, the woman who died?"

He hesitated only the briefest moment before confirming, "Yes. Because of her." It was not a lie, not really. But feeling compelled, he added, "And other reasons. It is complicated."

"But you won't even let me be your friend."

Bates blinked his eyes slowly at the pain so evident in her voice. He had been treating her terribly, brutal in his need to keep himself away from her. It had not truly occurred to him that his coldness would hurt her, that his good opinion would matter so greatly to her.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I have been cruel to you and you don't deserve it. I would very much like to be your friend, Anna."

She looked as though she wanted to argue. But instead, she slowly smiled at him, a small but genuine look of of acceptance and absolution. "Shall we attempt to start again, Mister Bates?"

Relieved, he returned her smile with his own, and they moved to where Gwen stood patiently waiting for them.

"We should get up a group and come down for the fair," Anna suggested brightly, reading the posting.

"Oh, that would be grand," the other housemaid put in. "Perhaps in the evening, if Mrs. Hughes allows it, after we've had our dinner."

Anna looked back at the valet. "What about you, Mister Bates?"

The expectancy in her eyes pulled at him, and he could sense that she was waiting for another rebuff. He had played with her far too much already for her to completely trust him at this juncture.

"I don't see why not."

* * *

><p>The talk above stairs revolved endlessly about who would inherit the estate in the event of Lord Grantham's death. Bates listened with only half an ear, already knowing that the entail was unbreakable. And even if the house could be split apart from the rest, his Lordship would never allow it. In between such comments and asides, he listened for changes in the timeline following his decision to help move Pamuk's body. But everything went on as normal, as near as he could tell.<p>

He had to admire Lady Mary's composure as she put the Turk's death behind her. No one who did not realize the trauma she'd been through could have spotted any difference in her demeanor. Anna likewise went about her work without much hitch in her step, although he feared that the experience may have caused her some sleepless nights. She came down with a nasty cold not long after their conversation in the village about the fair.

Bates recalled that Anna would end up missing the outing due to her illness, just as he knew that none of the others besides Gwen would express any disappointment in his declaration that he would stay at the house rather than walk down with them.

The kindly red-haired housemaid asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't like to tag along, Mister Bates?"

"Is Anna still feeling under the weather?" he asked. Gwen nodded, and he said softly, "I think I'm content to stay here and leave such a trip to the young people."

Gwen gave him a kindly smile before leaving, recognizing his partiality to the head housemaid. Knowing that nothing he could say would disabuse her of whatever notions she'd developed, he remained quiet on the subject. Instead, he sat in the servants' hall speaking with Tom Branson and a cranky Ms. O'Brien, reveling in the familiar atmosphere. But even interacting with Branson as the new chauffeur rather than as a member of the family upstairs was not enough of a distraction to divert his thoughts from Anna.

Was it really possible for him to maintain a friendship with her and never let it go further? He despised himself for treating her badly, but it seemed the only way to keep her from developing feelings for him. And despite all his efforts, she had developed those feelings. He could see them even now. Anna loved him, or she was near enough to have her heart broken.

He knew not why she loved him, not when he'd gone out of his way to be so unfriendly. Bates wondered if perhaps she was simply meant to fall for him, if it was something impossible to avoid like the phases of the moon or the ravages of time. Either way, it was happening, and he had to deal with it.

The sooner she knew he was married, the sooner he could squash any dream she might harbor about them enjoying a life together. He'd hated telling her the first time, and he hadn't really. One of his most shameful actions was to keep that information from her, to allow her to find it out on her own by talking to the army and his mother. But he'd simply been unable to speak the words, to see the light in her eyes die away. The same trepidation stayed him now.

As the hours stretched by and Anna did not make an appearance downstairs, Bates remembered that he had taken her up a tray of food when she'd gotten sick before. He borrowed one from the kitchen and under Mrs. Patmore's watchful eye, he loaded it with various items a sick person might be able to stomach, particularly soup and bread. His hand went to one of the vases they kept for her Ladyship's morning trays, thinking to include some flowers. Anna loved flowers, and the color would brighten her evening. But with a sigh, he left the tray unadorned, deciding it better to err on the side of being less romantic than more.

"That's quite a lot of butter," the cook commented, frowning at him.

"My mother used to say it was good for people trying to get over an illness," he responded. She nodded thoughtfully and let him about his business. In truth, his mother had never said such a thing, but he knew Anna enjoyed lathering her bread with it, and there was rarely enough of it at the servants' table to fill her cravings.

The trip up the stairs to the attic was precarious, but he took his time and managed it well enough. If he could help carry a dead man's body the length of the house with one hand, he could certainly balance a tray while going up some stairs.

Bates hesitated at the door dividing the men's from women's side of the servants' corridor. Not sure if she would answer this time around, not with the way he'd treated her, he quietly tapped on the glass. A moment later, he heard the distant sound of a door opening.

"Anna?" he called softly.

"Mister Bates?"

She sounded so surprised, and he could not help but smile. "Can you open the door?" he requested.

"I daren't... No one can open that door except Mrs. Hughes," Anna responded, sounding both nervous and apologetic on the other side of the smokey glass.

"Please?" he entreated, "Just for a moment. I brought you something to eat."

It was a risk. He had not realized back then, when they'd first lived out this scene, exactly what he'd been asking of the maid. She could have been fired immediately for opening that door, turned out of the house without a reference or even a kind word. But more than that, Anna had barely known him but a few months. She barely knew him now.

And knowing what lay in store for Anna's future, of a different servant who would have taken advantage of the situation and caused her harm had he been in Bates' place, he marveled at her courage.

Anna did open the door for him again.

He would not have blamed her if she hadn't, not in the slightest. But unlike the time in their past, her eyes were weary rather than bright with happiness. As her gaze fell upon the tray, she began to protest. "Mister Bates, I can't-"

"Shh," he hushed her and held out the tray. With an expression of deliberately wary acceptance, Anna took it from his hands.

He remembered how she looked at him that night, the first time he'd lived through this particular moment. She had smiled at him openly, without trepidation, and he indulged himself in smiling back at her. It was a simple gesture, both as a thanks for her having done the same for him and also an affirmance of their friendship.

This time, Anna's expression was not so open. She did not gaze at him easily, her cheeks flushed with something more than her illness. Instead, she seemed confused and cautious, like a child not sure if she would be yelled at or comforted by a parent. He knew he should remain silent, but he could not abide her looking so conflicted.

"This is what friends do, isn't it?" he asked her softly.

Her face softened, and she gave him an answering nod. But before she could speak, they heard a noise down the hall, and it reminded them both of the danger of leaving that door open. Anna immediately backed away and he pulled the door closed behind her.

Bates paused a moment before returning downstairs, listening as she turned the key in the lock and padded back to her own room. Once he was she was back in her room, he rested his head against the locked door and whispered aloud into the empty hallway, "I love you, Anna. You will never know how much."

The statement was a promise, one he had every intention of keeping.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I really appreciate the feedback from folks. :)**

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><p>Watching Thomas toy with Daisy grated on him, but he did his best to ignore the footman's antics. The kitchen maid would learn eventually that Thomas only showed interest in her to further his own ends and to annoy William. And even though Bates hated seeing the young woman with stars in her eyes for the vile man smirking among a haze of cigarette smoke, Bates hated even more that Daisy was breaking William's heart. The blond footman took the rejection hard, just as he had before.<p>

Being around William was particularly difficult for Bates, remembering his fate as he did. Every interaction had a feeling of intensity, as though it held a greater meaning than it otherwise would. The lad was so young and enthusiastic, his kindness holding a quality of quiet consistency. He never complained about assuming the extra duties Bates could not perform, never said a word about making two trips to carry in cases or the extra run upstairs with a tray of savories. How fickle war could be that it would ultimately take a man like William and spare the likes of Thomas.

Having grown quite fond of the young man again, witnessing William's pain over Daisy's foolishness truly disheartened Bates. Listening to Daisy's descent into nastiness in a vain attempt to catch the first footman's attention upset him further. But he knew he should not interfere. Events must play out as they had before.

He knocked on William's door that evening, after the others had returned from the fair, not even knowing what he would say. But he recalled checking on the blond footman before, so he must do so again. Waiting a couple of beats before opening the door, he saw William perched on his cot with his back to the door.

"Please leave me alone, Mister Bates," William stated, not even needing to turn around to see the valet in the doorway. "I know you mean well, but leave me be."

Once, he had done exactly that. He remembered because only moments later, he encountered Thomas in the hall. Bates rarely lost his temper, but he had on that occasion, sensing that Thomas was toying with William for no other purpose than to amuse himself. Bullies rarely recognized anything but force and dominance, which is why Bates had put him against a wall and threatened him. It did no good, of course, except to exacerbate Bates' guilt over losing himself.

At an earlier time, Bates would have assumed William had a long life ahead of him with other opportunities at love. Now, he knew better. Making a flash decision, instead of leaving William's room, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The sound caused William to turn and look at his visitor.

"You shouldn't seem so eager," Bates stated, giving the advise unsolicited. "Daisy takes for granted your good opinion."

"She's not like that-" the younger man began, but the valet held up a hand even as he nodded a concession.

"Not consciously, no. Daisy is a nice girl. But nothing is quite so precious as what we cannot have. Consider that."

He turned to leave, but William stood up and regarded him, catching his attention.

"Mister Bates," he said slowly, "May I ask you something?"

Bates nodded, although he did so with a sinking feeling that he already knew the subject of the footman's inquiry.

"Do you like Anna?"

William was more insightful than he'd given the man credit, he decided with regret.

"I do like Anna, very much," Bates responded, careful to keep his tone neutral. "She is a thoughtful person."

Nodding, the footman seemed pensive, as though he were uncomfortable having the conversation but determined to do it all the same.

"She's always been kind to me, ever since I arrived, and I know she's been kind to you," William went on.

he stared at Bates, letting his meaning sink in as their eyes met. William was showing his protectiveness, not through a warning, but through a reminder. And in that moment, Bates finally realized exactly how unkind he had been to the woman he loved more than anything else in the world. He was to her the way Daisy was to William - fickle and shallow. And even the likes of William, so caught up in his feelings for the kitchen maid, had noticed.

"Anna has been very kind to me," Bates agreed. "And I have repaid her kindness poorly. It will not be a mistake I continue."

Giving a nod, William paused for a second before permitting himself a smile. "You said don't be too eager," he repeated. "What would you suggest?"

* * *

><p>As the weeks passed and the season changed, Bates fell into a strange limbo in his dealings with Anna. He was no longer unkind to her, but at the same time, he kept himself to himself as much as possible. Unable to confide in her or seek her out, he allowed most of their interactions to happen when she wished it. And already gun-shy from the way he'd treated her before, Anna was not as solicitous to him as she'd been in their earlier life.<p>

He tried not to revel in what time together they did share. But sometimes he could not help but get caught up in their conversations, listening to her thoughts more than he expressed his own. Their dealings were different this time around, but that faint glimmer of a special connection was still there, just under the surface.

In the mean time, Bates wrote to his mother in London. His mother's letters expressed disapproval of his intent to severe the marriage, but she did not advise against it. Because his funds were few, Mrs. Bates grudgingly agreed to advance him some money so that he could hire a private investigator to find Vera and then hire a solicitor to seek a divorce. Knowing what he knew from before, he did so carefully - and with a plan.

His correspondence to his mother was the only place he could speak openly of Anna, although he kept his comments brief.

_The head housemaid is very kind to me, and I count her a friend, perhaps my only true friend in this place._

When his mother inquired further about Anna, he was truthful, not only out of a desire to savor what he knew was limited time with his only living relative but also so that she might better know the woman who meant so much to him before she died.

_She is a beautiful Yorkshire woman, hard working and thoughtful. You would like her, I think. _

Careful not to expound too much on Anna's virtues, Bates took care in his letters to speak of other things, the matters he knew he would regret if he did not get them off his chest before his mother's death. He likely sounded maudlin as he mentioned memories from his childhood and thanked her for all the support she'd given him not only as a boy, but as the floundering waste of a man he'd been before going to prison.

_You're a good son, Johnny_, she wrote back to him in one missive, _and I am proud of who you have become._

His mother was a reserved woman who rarely doled out praise. With a reminder to himself that he needed to request a few days leave to visit her soon, Bates folded the letter into his coat pocket to hold onto the rest of the day. Not for the first time, he reconsidered that perhaps traveling back in time was actually a blessing.

* * *

><p>Life went on as before. Bates woke up in the morning, shaved, and dressed. He combed and slicked his hair with pomade and went through the rituals of life before descending the stairs to eat breakfast and begin work. He tried not to miss his old life too much.<p>

He especially tried not to show his disappointment on those few occasions when Anna chose to sit elsewhere at the table than beside him. Gwen was still in the house, and she often sat next to the other housemaid. But more often than not, Anna still gravitated to his side. And when she flashed him a nervous smile, Bates could not help but return it with guilty pleasure.

It was a dangerous game he was playing.

The likes of Thomas and Ms. O'Brien were not yet done with him, of course. Bates had almost forgotten their antics in trying to get rid of him. Thus, when he happened upon Thomas obviously hiding a bottle of wine he must have stolen from the cellar, it presented a new and interesting question. Knowing what Thomas would do in the future, should he expose the footman now? Or should he wait and let things play out the way they had before?

It was the first in a series of events leading to the decision to expose his past to everyone. Doubts dug at him uncomfortably, almost painfully, as he noted that not everything happened as he remembered. Small things were different, with events happening out of place or not at all. He realized that it was a cascade from the changes he had made, although like a few pebbles tumbling down a mountain rather than a complete landslide. Large events proceeded as they had before, or as best as he could recall.

In the end, Bates decided to attempt to let as much happen as it had before without too many alterations. The more he changed what happened, the less he'd be able to predict and modify the future.

And the less he would be able to protect Anna.

One change he noticed was that Daisy's interest in Thomas waned as William began to spend more time with Gwen.

"I've taken your advice, Mister Bates," the footman told him one day, leaving it at that. Bates was curious about the cryptic comment having only suggested giving Daisy space to know her own feelings rather than smothering her with attention.

But as he watched William speaking with Gwen more and more in the servant's hall, he noted that Daisy was also watching them. The footman had always been friendly with the red-haired maid, but Bates had never read much else into it than that. However, when it came to Daisy, they seemed suddenly united in a plot. Whenever the kitchen maid was nearby, they would put their heads together and chat so closely that more than once Mr. Carson cleared his throat as he eyed them with disapproval.

"Do you know what that's about?" Bates asked Anna one evening, even as Daisy huffed at the way William had eyes only for Gwen before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"They're trying to make her jealous," Anna explained. "I'm surprised you don't know. William said you gave him the idea."

He sighed with regret, his words having inspired conduct he had not anticipated.

"I suppose I did, although that was not my intention," he said with resignation.

The tactic was not what he envisioned, but it appeared to be working well enough on Daisy, which Anna noted with amusement.

Fretful, Bates asked, "Is there any chance Gwen might fall for him amid the skit?"

It would serve him right if Gwen stayed at Downton and married William, thoroughly changing the course of future events.

Suppressing her laugh into a rather heartfelt smile, Anna shook her head. "That's unlikely. She told me he reminds her of her brother."

Taking pleasure in her amusement, he ventured teasingly, "I can see why she wouldn't fancy him, then. Women do not wish to marry men who remind them of their brothers."

Anna shrugged her shoulders. With a teasing smile, she responded, "I wouldn't know. I only had a sister."

Tilting his head, he regarded her for a moment before asking, "What was she like?"

Her demeanor changed with the question and Bates' recognition of one simple word she'd said. Not needing to clarify, not needing to explain why she had used the past tense or what had happened, Anna said softly, "She was wonderful. Kind and thoughtful and compassionate. Everyone loved her." Anna sighed. "I miss her."

Bates knew without asking that Anna's sister Elizabeth had died around the time Anna arrived at Downton. As a new maid, she had been unable to go home for the funeral. The guilt of missing that day plagued her almost as much as the loss of her sibling. In hindsight, he realized that she probably could have managed it if she'd explained matters to Mrs. Hughes, but she likely chose not to in an effort to avoid seeing her step-father.

His knuckles went white as he clenched a fist in rage at the thought of her step-father.

"What about you?" Anna asked, not noticing his sudden anger. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

Bates shook his head. He allowed her presence and the softness of her inquiry to calm him from his previous thoughts. The trauma she'd suffered in her own home as a child would be the last she would endure in this life if he had his way.

"No," Bates shared. "It was just me and my mother when I was growing up."

"Where is your mother now?"

"She lives in London."

They talked for a time about themselves, with Anna asking questions and Bates answering as honestly as he dared. He already knew which topics were safe to broach with her and which would bring up bad memories. Despite her sweet disposition, Anna had endured a difficult childhood, one he was not certain he still knew everything about. Minimizing the memories which pained her and glossing over old wounds, she gave every appearance of someone who was care free.

By the time he thought to excuse himself to bed, nearly everyone else had gone upstairs. Mrs. Hughes poked her head into the servants' hall and gave them a stern look.

"Now don't you two start making Mister Carson suspicious as well. He already has me keeping an extra eye on William and Gwen."

Anna did not - quite - hide her smile as she stood up and answered, "Of course not, Mrs. Hughes." Then, to him, she added more quietly, "Goodnight, Mister Bates."

She disappeared up the stairs to the women's quarters, and Bates forced himself not to look after her. But as he did look up, he saw the housekeeper still standing in the doorway regarding him thoughtfully.

"You disapprove," he stated, deciding to address her concerns head-on.

"I only hope I have nothing to disapprove of, Mister Bates," she said with an arched eyebrow.

"Nothing at all," Bates assured her.

He hoped for Anna's sake that it was true.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Just as a head's up, it will likely be over a week before my next update as I'll be on vacation next week. But I truly appreciate everyone's kind words of support and enthusiasm over this story. Reviews always make my day. :)**

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><p>Mrs. Hughes' warning stayed with him as Bates went about his duties and the peculiar moments that accompanied his interactions with the other servants. He had finally found a place in the large country house, although it was not quite what it once was. Instead of being seen as a harmless man who often found himself in the company of the head housemaid in the servants' hall, he got the impression that the others thought he had designs on Anna. Some showed disapproval as they talked behind his back, not quite out of his hearing. Others reflected encouragement or simply demonstrated no notice of the gossip swirling around them.<p>

But perhaps the worst was when someone teased Anna regarding her preference for certain company. Gwen did it gently once or twice when she thought no one else could hear, and the other maid bristled and colored but did not admonish the other maid. Thomas made a comment of the same variety once, and only once.

"Looks like someone wants to be Mrs. Long John Silver," he said disdainfully.

Anna ignored the footman, but Bates shot him a look full of such thunderous murder that even the sarcastic footman closed his mouth and leaned back. The whispering stopped after that, at least in his hearing.

Of course, none of the others knew that there was but a tentative friendship between he and Anna, and that it could be nothing else. Anna never worked to disabuse them of such notions, and his own protests would merely serve to kindle interest in the topic. So Bates remained silent, and he tried his best to keep out of situations which would excite interest or damage Anna's reputation, such as being with her alone.

However, he lost his nerve on that front one day when he wandered past Lady Edith's room in the family corridor and heard only the changing of the bedclothes. Silence meant that Anna was by herself because if Gwen had been with her, the two would be chattering together in friendly, upbeat terms. Not for the first time, he found it amusing that but for the occasional word with William, his best friends in this house were two young women. For much of his past, both in the army and in prison, he'd spent most of his time in the company of men.

Poking his head into the room, he confirmed that Anna was alone before asking, "May I give you a hand?"

Her face immediately brightened. "Oh, would you? Gwen's come down sick, and it would take half the time."

"I hope she's all right."

Anna smirked, obviously knowing something he did not. "I'm sure she'll be right as rain by tomorrow."

Setting his cane aside, Bates set to work helping her remake the bed. The decor of the room was old and outdated, and it reminded him of the strange position Lady Edith held in the household. She was not the heir like Lady Mary, nor was she the darling of the Crawleys; that position was reserved for youg Lady Sybil. And Bates knew that her future was not terribly bright, either - being left at the alter and then that business with the married editor who came up missing.

"I feel sorry for her - for Lady Edith," he remarked, realizing as he did so that they'd had this conversation before. "She might have more than we do, but she seems to have a difficult lot of it."

Anna readily agreed with him, and he asked routinely about the middle daughter's relationship with the dead heir, Mr. Patrick. Their conversation was not precisely the same as they'd had before, those many years ago. Try as he might, he could not remember all the words, nor the specific questions and comments. But rather than worry over it, he let the discussion go naturally, as he had with each of his interactions since arriving at Downton.

"He was all set up to marry Lady Mary," Anna was saying, "although I'm not sure she'd have gone through with it if he hadn't died."

"And now there's a new heir."

The way he said it, they both heard the word "victim" in place of "heir."

"Indeed," she said with a grin. "But I don't know if Lady Edith will have better luck with him than she had with Mister Patrick."

He wanted to avoid the awkwardness of their first go-around, a comment he remembered making which led her into betraying herself. But it pulled at him to hear it from her, to see that emotion in her face. He dearly missed his wife, but this woman was her again, young and beautiful and everything he remembered. Part of him wondered if she truly did still love him, after all that had happened, after how hard and painfully he'd pushed her away. In many ways, her feelings were all that truly mattered any more.

"It's sad, don't you think?" he asked, holding his breath until she responded.

Anna hesitated as she smoothed back the comforter. "It's always sad," she commented, almost to herself, "when you love someone who doesn't love you back. No matter who you are."

When she lifted her eyes to his, they were full of meaning. Anna betrayed her feelings for him in a single statement, and he was helpless to sooth the hurt the confession had caused her. He regretted having led her to such an admission, as vague as it might sound on its surface. Despite everything he'd done to resist this moment, to ward off her good opinion of him, he was back where he'd started. She had fallen in love with him all over again.

And a treacherous part of him wasn't even sorry.

Bates made no attempt at confusion or embarrassment. Instead, he met her piercing gaze. "You think Mister Patrick didn't love Lady Edith?" he asked.

She shrugged, perhaps disappointed that they were still speaking about this topic instead of the real issues between them.

"Why would he court Lady Mary if he loved her?"

"Perhaps he wasn't at liberty to choose as he would have liked," Bates said softly, filling his tone with as much longing as he dared. "Perhaps he just couldn't follow his heart."

Anna slowed her movements as she smoothed the comforter over the bed. Lifting her eyes to stare at him in obvious confusion, she asked, "Why ever not?"

Her voice sounded lighter and more free than he could have imagined. Anna always met his eyes with such heartfelt sincerity, and this occasion was no exception. Taking a breath to steady himself, Bates noticed that his collar seemed unnaturally tight and constricting. He swallowed back a sigh before answering.

"Sometimes... it isn't right to seek out what we want. Sometimes there are other things to consider."

There was a silence between them while Anna watched him. In that moment, she was indistinguishable from the woman he'd married, the woman he'd lost. Unbidden, the memory of her anguished screams invaded his mind, and he was immediately transported back to the cottage. He could hear nothing but her pain and contrarily could see nothing but her stillness as the doctor's voice hummed behind him, unable to penetrate the fog of his sudden grief.

He looked away, his eyes slamming closed as though to block out the memory. Taking a moment to yank himself back into the present, Bates forced himself to take in a deep breath of air.

No, it wasn't right to love her, he angrily chastised himself. His love was never meant to bring her joy, only pain. And eventually... death.

Sensing his distress, Anna gathered up the bed linens. "Thank you for your help," she told him, ducking through the door.

"My pleasure," he answered, following her out.

* * *

><p>His conversation with Anna in Lady Edith's room and the ensuing flashbacks threatened to distract Bates the rest of the day, but he was pulled from such thoughts by Lord Grantham pointing out the missing snuff box.<p>

"The pretty blue one with the miniature trimmed in French paste," he said, pointing into the glass enclosure. "It should be just here."

"Perhaps it was moved for cleaning?" Bates suggested.

Lord Grantham cocked his head to the side, "But why would it? And who would? Carson would leave such to you."

"I haven't touched it, milord," the valet said quickly. Bates had no trouble pretending to know nothing about it. Indeed, he had all but forgotten about the item being missing until that moment, he'd been so focused on thoughts of Anna.

"It can't have gotten far," he assured his employer. But Lord Grantham frowned down at the case with the missing piece.

Bates already knew that he would find it hidden it in the back of his closet, in a tight cranny he'd gone over twice before noticing it all those years ago. This time, he would located it easily, a benefit of having already lived through these circumstances. Unfortunately, while he had no fear of being tossed out for the missing snuff box, he would still have to go through the whole dreadful affair all over again.

But as he went up to his room that afternoon, taking a spare moment to make the trip up the long and winding stairs, Bates did not find the snuff box where he thought he would. The cranny in his closet was empty.

"Damn you, Thomas," he muttered under his breath, angry at the footman's consistency in some things but not in others. It had to be somewhere in his room.

He went through every inch of his small, orderly room, but to no avail. The snuff box was not there. Perhaps Thomas hadn't yet hidden it, or more likely, he had chosen somewhere else. Regardless, Bates was responsible for his Lordship's possessions and it going missing would reflect poorly on him, even if it was never found.

Pushing aside his now very real worry that he would be sacked after all, Bates descended the stairs and took a seat at the servant's table for their evening meal. Anna found a seat beside him. Ever an intuitive person, she asked him about his troubles.

"Something has gone missing," he confided quietly. "They'll think it was me."

"But why-" Anna began, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Carson in the servant's hall as they all stood.

The butler spared Bates the embarrassment of having to answer the housemaid's question as he laid out the matter of the missing snuff box to the other servants before departing to make ready for the dinner upstairs.

"I am sorry, Mister Bates. What a horrible thing to have happened," O'Brien said, her tone anything but apologetic.

Anna did not jump to his defense as she might have in another life, but she did shoot the lady's maid a withering look.

"I'm sure it will turn up," Bates said in response, the uncertainty in his voice authentic.

"Of course it will," the head housemaid added. "Surely it has just been misplaced."

"Or someone's taken it," Thomas noted darkly. "And only one of us ever goes into that room."

Bates ignored the schemers. The gong rang and they departed. Looking to reassure Anna, he said, "Not to worry. I'm sure it will be found."

One sidelong glance at her revealed fear in her eyes - true fear, obviously at the thought of losing him, and it struck at his heart.

"I better get a move on," he muttered, pushing himself out of his seat and departing to finish the day's work. After that, he still had to try and think of where Thomas might have hidden the snuff box. In a house like Downton, it could be anywhere at all.

As he left the servant's hall, Bates noticed Daisy standing in the doorway, but her eyes were focused across the table where William stood conversing with Gwen, obviously poised to follow Thomas upstairs in a moment. The two were laughing, apparently oblivious to the sad expression worn by the kitchen maid.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


End file.
